The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Robert Frost
Source: "Poemhunter.com" (www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-road-not-taken/ )
I just want to share this moving poem. My professor told me that this poem don't meant anything but to form vivid imagery of what each words are saying but I find it otherwise. Though it was already stated by author that it was suppose to be only an image poetry, or perhaps my memory is only playing with me.
-----
One day, I was bored with nothing much to do that I decided to open my FB account. It was funny and at the same time bitter, my friends already have great life and living to the fullest of their every damn seconds on Earth while I...
I'm still in the middle of the woods, still deciding what to do. My hands as of now are numb, all the nerves connecting it to my brain have lessened. The leaves of woods that I once wrote my stories and poems on are scattered and decaying. No eyes but mine, or perhaps not even mine own, have already gone blind, to see what was they were vividly speaking.
It's like a feeling of being lost while knowing your way through. It doesn't make any sense but it does. Then it comes to looking far and even further and farther. ... Is there a way through this thick dense forest? The bushes all around me spells blockage and dead ends. Paths filled with fragile hope that will instantly or slowly fall to pieces upon its doors have been open. Where should I go now? Every traces and markers I've left have already dissolved, vanished and extinguished from the many tears my eyes have rained.
Sometimes there is hope, a new path way opens up and this one have a decent smell in it. None like any paths, it's a way that gradually fills one with hope. But then a new fork. A new crossroad. A new possibility of hope and a new probability of despair. Equally laid before mine eyes and as I looked back, only pictures of regret would swim up my mind. Did I make the right decision of following this road? Only to arrive at a new cross road, what path should I go next? I lie motionless and irregardless of strangers walking the path I've chosen. Or perhaps I'm concern. Kudos to them, for they can move while I can't.
Envious, jealous, desiring, wanting, regretting. A melancholic state of sorrowful euphoria.
I once wrote in a single leaf that I, a hero, will rise. But where am I now? Where is the hero now? Dead and yet still alive. Dead in spirit while the body continues to breath. No! There are no scientific illnesses to call it nor are there any logical explanations to this surrealistic phenomenon, it's just sadness mixed with a dashed of bitter madness and in unison with a rhythmic consciousness, though it seems the latter is soon to fade.
What then? Both path are of different colors. Both shouts different voices. Both emanates a melancholic scent. Is it of joy? Or is it of sadness? But nonetheless both ends of the two paths aren't visible, they are imaginary, things of true beauty and ugliness. Which is which will only be shown once I've walked both but unfortunately for me, as a matter of fact, I'm a matter that have to obey laws and one of which dictates I can't go at the two places at the same time. And unfortunately also, one law, which father time dictates, hardly possible to impossible to walk both at different moments. Once I take one, the other one will only be a regretful memory, lashing me with a whip that blames me for not taking the other one. But... but...which one? Which one would hurt me less if I travel not on its pavement?
Come to think of it, there was also a story of a falling girl, I guess that's already the title, written by Dino Buzzati, in parallel to this poem of Robert Frost. Or I think they are.I don't know, I'm never a master of anything, though I once carried the title. But I think I still I do "A Master of None," not much like how I wanted it. I'm less fortunate but I'm fortunate to have people around me. But... are they to me? Now I can't see the common mutuality of me and everyone. I guess only the past will be... but did the past also have a common... **ERROR** **BRAIN... not philosophical and not understanding enough to get this* *changing topic******
Here's a link to the story of the Falling Girl, ( https://docs.google.com/document/edit?id=1tb7kGoJ3mhP0NLlMeWj7ugYJGpJt1Ly3C5o2uHCQj4k&hl=en ), I'll be messing around with it next time. Hopefully, I guess.
Now, to you my readers, if you still exist, may I ask you a question to end this... ... ... train of thought.
Is this a real life or is this just fantasy?
It's like a feeling of being lost while knowing your way through. It doesn't make any sense but it does. Then it comes to looking far and even further and farther. ... Is there a way through this thick dense forest? The bushes all around me spells blockage and dead ends. Paths filled with fragile hope that will instantly or slowly fall to pieces upon its doors have been open. Where should I go now? Every traces and markers I've left have already dissolved, vanished and extinguished from the many tears my eyes have rained.
Sometimes there is hope, a new path way opens up and this one have a decent smell in it. None like any paths, it's a way that gradually fills one with hope. But then a new fork. A new crossroad. A new possibility of hope and a new probability of despair. Equally laid before mine eyes and as I looked back, only pictures of regret would swim up my mind. Did I make the right decision of following this road? Only to arrive at a new cross road, what path should I go next? I lie motionless and irregardless of strangers walking the path I've chosen. Or perhaps I'm concern. Kudos to them, for they can move while I can't.
Envious, jealous, desiring, wanting, regretting. A melancholic state of sorrowful euphoria.
I once wrote in a single leaf that I, a hero, will rise. But where am I now? Where is the hero now? Dead and yet still alive. Dead in spirit while the body continues to breath. No! There are no scientific illnesses to call it nor are there any logical explanations to this surrealistic phenomenon, it's just sadness mixed with a dashed of bitter madness and in unison with a rhythmic consciousness, though it seems the latter is soon to fade.
What then? Both path are of different colors. Both shouts different voices. Both emanates a melancholic scent. Is it of joy? Or is it of sadness? But nonetheless both ends of the two paths aren't visible, they are imaginary, things of true beauty and ugliness. Which is which will only be shown once I've walked both but unfortunately for me, as a matter of fact, I'm a matter that have to obey laws and one of which dictates I can't go at the two places at the same time. And unfortunately also, one law, which father time dictates, hardly possible to impossible to walk both at different moments. Once I take one, the other one will only be a regretful memory, lashing me with a whip that blames me for not taking the other one. But... but...which one? Which one would hurt me less if I travel not on its pavement?
Come to think of it, there was also a story of a falling girl, I guess that's already the title, written by Dino Buzzati, in parallel to this poem of Robert Frost. Or I think they are.I don't know, I'm never a master of anything, though I once carried the title. But I think I still I do "A Master of None," not much like how I wanted it. I'm less fortunate but I'm fortunate to have people around me. But... are they to me? Now I can't see the common mutuality of me and everyone. I guess only the past will be... but did the past also have a common... **ERROR** **BRAIN... not philosophical and not understanding enough to get this* *changing topic******
Here's a link to the story of the Falling Girl, ( https://docs.google.com/document/edit?id=1tb7kGoJ3mhP0NLlMeWj7ugYJGpJt1Ly3C5o2uHCQj4k&hl=en ), I'll be messing around with it next time. Hopefully, I guess.
Now, to you my readers, if you still exist, may I ask you a question to end this... ... ... train of thought.
Is this a real life or is this just fantasy?
