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.

The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But the theory now goes
That the apple’s a rose,
And the pear is, and so’s
The plum, I suppose.
The dear only knows
What will next prove a rose.
You, of course, are a rose—
But were always a rose.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

i wish i was special
but all i really am
is a disaster
bruising along the coast
of your incomplete love

I never felt you are my love
I don't think you will have
to make a promise to me.
If you can see it
I'm already a honeybee
of another garden, I sang for it
I always will and I have.

You know I have a heaven
Why do you call me often
to the hell of Satan!
I'm happy here in my way,
It's not right, not the right way.

I don't want to be drunk
and wouldn't do anything wrong,
Maybe it's a sin to enjoy life.
So, get away, please go, get away!

I'm so sorry, I can feel you
but I have never felt love to you.
Sorry, you are so late
'Cause I'm already committed
to fly another world.
I'm sorry, you're so late my friend!

The pen
is not your friend
But you don't know that yet

You sit
clenched fist
looking nowhere
mind
going everywhere
or drawing
a blank

You've clenched
your fist
too tight

Blood is never blue
but if it were
it might look like this

Rivers cascading
down to your wrist
the ink
finding a home
in the crevices
of your hand

Your pen is not flying
the page is not splattered
with overeager writing

Instead
you're left with
a sticky hand
and a mess
to clean up

Anywhere, anytime
If you see any crime,
Then what to do?
I know that all
You'll nothing do
'Cause, you are also a criminal.

Anyhow, anyone
dose a job well done
What'll you say?
I get that all
You'll pride that day
'Cause, you are egotistical.

When needy people
ask you for any help,
Don't hurt at all
If you can't  help them
'Cause they are miserable!