I have no wit, I have no words, no tears;
My heart within me like a stone
Is numbed too much for hopes or fears;
Look right, look left, I dwell alone;
A lift mine eyes, but dimmed with grief
No everlasting hills I see;
My life is like the falling leaf;
O Jesus, quicken me.

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.

I try to find the words I want to say,
But they just won't come.
I want the things I feel, to be the things I write.
But the words won't come.

When I write a poem,
The words in my heart must be translated
Into a language
That can be both seen and heard.

But sometimes the translator gets stuck,
In trying to read
My deepest, truest emotions
Amongst the jumble of my thoughts.

And so now I'm stuck
With a plethora of locked-up feelings,
Yearning to be said.
And this is what they call, the writer's block.

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow—
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream:
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand—
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep
While I weep—while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

It’s confusing
The unknown before me
The world I’ve yet to see
On my own
All alone
Filled with uncertainty
Yet free

I think I like pictures
Because they’re like dreams
Of this perfect world
Of more than it seems

You can sense the emotion
The intangible rapture
When they saw something beautiful
That they needed to capture

My mind won't stop
And as I lay in bed
With silence as my only companion
And my eyes transfixed on the ceiling
I can't help but wonder
Or maybe even hope
That somewhere on this bright night
You're a little restless too