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.
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 3:30 PM UTC
I know that there have been times,
down the bruised and misread years,
when I have been hard and cold,
perhaps even seeming to be cruel.
But, please remember who I am
and where it is I've come from.
Born to gossip and scandal
and raised in the family war zone,
where the language was rage
and words were often lies.
Trust and tenderness, at times,
seem illusory to me.
Unknowable.
Like smoke in my hands.
But I still try.
By Phil Roberts
Mar 14, 2017
Mar 14, 2017 at 3:28 PM UTC
Do you miss home? She asked with some fragility,
I didn't answer and after a long pause, feeling those thousand emotions that passed me , I said, Home is where mother is.
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 5:33 PM UTC
Drunk nights, high on life,
Cash in pocket and a bike.
People said invest for FAMILY one day you will have yours, little I knew and I was broke.
Motivated me bought a flat, never did I know life wouldn't be that glad
The best years I paid EMI, became a farmer and lived on rice.
The question I ask , is it worth it?
The answer will come with the FAMILY.
Jan 23, 2017
Jan 23, 2017 at 11:19 AM UTC