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 marked 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.

Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast
In a field I looked into going past,
And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,
But a few weeds and stubble showing last.

The woods around it have it—it is theirs.
All animals are smothered in their lairs.
I am too absent-spirited to count;
The loneliness includes me unawares.

And lonely as it is, that loneliness
Will be more lonely ere it will be less—
A blanker whiteness of benighted snow
With no expression, nothing to express.

They cannot scare me with their empty spaces
Between stars—on stars where no human race is.
I have it in me so much nearer home
To scare myself with my own desert places.

A girl kicks her legs while sitting on a swing,
unable to coordinate her young body to move forward.
Her small hands are wrapped around the chain links,
holding her high so she can only touch her toes to the ground.
Her stomach hurts and she frowns.
It always hurts when she tries to play, so she stopped trying.

A teen kicks her legs while sitting on a swing,
not having the energy to move herself forward.
Her bitten fingernails pick a the ridges of the chain links,
holding her now that she is far to exhausted to do so on her own.
Her whole body hurts and she can't even frown.
It always hurts when she tries to breathe, so she stopped trying.

A woman walks up to a swing,
allowing her own child to tug her towards it.
Her actions are careful as she pushes her precious cargo,
cradling it yet letting it roam far enough to find happiness.
Her whole body feels light and she can't stop smiling.
It always was a struggle to keep going, but she never stopped trying.

Originality over Success
I’ve only wanted what’s best
Success is in pride
But pride will not drive
Me. To win what is mine.
For that, you may not have to try.

For that, you may not have to think.
And for that, you must stop.
To get on top, you must rock.
The world inside you for what it’s got.
Why think, when you can do.
Overthinking can be the death of you.

The death of you. The death of you.
Overthinking can be the death of you.
Don’t think, just do.
And remember try not to lose
What is yours and what is mine,
What can be found inside the mind.
Don’t think, just do.
Overthinking WILL be the death of you.
Just start, then climb.
It’s the best way to keep what’s mine.

I’ll keep what’s mine until I scramble
From then on, it’s hard to find.
When you’re scrambled, you’re fried.
You have lost what drives the mind.

So don’t think, just do.
Utilize what is left of you.

Her story is his story
Fusion comes to mind
Two lives lived for the other
Love combined
They fit, two aces
Working at it day by day
Aligned together
Above the daily fray
Nothing they cannot surmount
They've got hopes and dreams
And realistic expectations
It is what it seems
Good times filled with purpose
Worthwhile how their time is spent
Natural and easy, magnificent
His story is her story
Real and filled with heaven's scent
One nods the head in appreciation
That what they have is meant to inspire
To make brighter each day
And to nurture the rest of us
So that we each can say
My story is her story
Her story is mine
Love is what we share in it
And how we are defined.