You rule with an evil golden scepter
Keep us pinned under your blackened thumb
Create angry reddened scars if we try to run
Twirl us around on your puppeteer strings
Cause chaos if we want to just be happy
Stir up unreasonable guilt with your *******
Call us names and bruise and beat us
Taunt and scream and never relent
Rage and rampage because you are a bull and we are the matador
this is what you do

this mad gristle flays itself
against the rigid
pyres of the stars;
it is lean, supple,
newmouthed and
hardly born;

It has trembled in the
arms of a woman,

and eaten of the fetal
apple--

stringent, stretched sticky
between the fingers
like a lung.

The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree

Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.

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.