By the passing of the clock...
Time taketh away your youth
In return gives experience....

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.

Love seeketh not Itself to please.
Nor for itself hath any care;
But for another gives its ease.
And builds a Heaven in Hells despair.

     So sung a little Clod of Clay,
     Trodden with the cattle’s feet;
     But a Pebble of the brook.
     Warbled out these metres meet.

Love seeketh only Self to please,
To bind another to Its delight;
Joys in anothers loss of ease.
And builds a Hell in Heavens despite.

Perhaps I peered too closely into the abysmal potholes of other people’s souls
of whom I had no business pilfering through in the first place.
Now I ponder about feelings and memories that do not belong to me
some of which are long forgotten, disregarded, or even irrelevant.
Of this information that I have unearthed and processed, I know not what to do with it.
I am perpetually preoccupied with what lies beneath the surface point, which is what pushes me forward, yet could propel me to my downfall.
I just sit here and anxiously ponder this arcane information I acquiesced
through means not noble to my standard of normal morals.
There is nothing else to do.
For I rest here in the realm of reality.
This is no novel of fiction for me to figure out.
I can’t flip through the pages of people’s plights.
Something like that does not fall within my rights.
I am a mere meddling mortal amongst other mortals.
I am no god who sits proudly upon their plethora of others’ secrets.

I am just another human being.

The cold grey of a January morn,
reflecting my spirit so utterly forlorn.
Was it pain I felt when I watched you leave,
or a chance for freedom and some small reprieve.

Only  Silence remained, as you closed the door,
heard your footsteps fade, like the waves on the shore.
Love never lingered, nor heard my plea,
it could only tear asunder,  in its bid to be free.

Now time owns my soul but you have moved on,
You embrace this new stranger and say he’s the one,
and if ere I wish the clock hands would turn,
to those flames of desire, where our passions did burn.

Now all I claim is this house full of tears,
with its memories and dust marking the years,
and my spirit remains forever bereft ,
of those things that you stole on the day that you left.

© H V Swan

I'm not a ****** path
I'm a differently functioning sociopath......