Another Road Not Taken

Another Road Not Taken.

It was a summer
day and I traveled
tattered paged paths of
Robert Frost and I came
to “the road not taken.”
I didn’t
really analyze
the difference between
the paths,
question which one
I should truly be
tempted by, nor
did I really notice the
yellow wood or even how
both curved into
under growth.

I could easily distinguish his
path, it was marked
with a huge sign saying
“R. Frost was here” with
amateur writers and students
throwing their pens and notebooks
in homage to the God. His
path was now probably the
more traveled path with
tour maps and pamphlets
littering the way which
lead to way. Since
He was there it made all
the difference; tourism,
copy-cats, and lectures.

The other
path was
just as worn
but it now had a sign
which mentioned a
Starbucks just
only a mile ahead.
Mostly people go that path
because they see
the crowds along the other
and not to mention
they feel like trying something
new even if it’s a

salted-caramel frappachino.

As for I?
I took neither.

See, I’m
a lazy traveler. I found an old
tree stump next to a limp
birch and listened to
to the mellow calls of the
oven bird until they diminished
into the night. The
golden sunset subsided into
a dark sky and
I fell asleep
and in hunger
dreamt of picking apples,
and when I awoke

I was where I began,
(no roads, trees,
nor ominous wood)
just me laying in bed with
that book in my hand and
confused looking around
for the paths I thought
I knew–
I was left completely unsure
of everything I thought was


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