should I return to the familiar
a numbing rut to and fro
outside looking in
a heavy line to grasp and tow
or travel towards the unfamiliar
letting loose of the weight
take that road less traveled
let it hold my fate
my mind races as I ponder
fifty years is but a blur
travel me ... she whispers
should I listen to her?
no longer able to embrace
the rut of grief and pain
Mr. Frost's poem
temps and calls my name
I am your desire
you know what you need do
my name is "The Road Not Taken"
a life
meaningful and new
come to me
i will make a difference
