The Road Not Taken

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; 5

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, 10

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. 15

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. 20

Robert Frost (1874–1963). 

the turning of a page

Let loose these feelings of dereliction. Put away that which is crushed. The earth renews itself. The moon is born again. An end is merely another beginning. Every morning is different. The story lines never cross. The plots are all ever-changing. The morals number beyond count. There is something new in everything. And everything new in somethings. The old is what is past. What has long gone will be forgotten. The pages of a book will wither. A memory never stays. There will be a new tomorrow. A light shining anew. A vision that breathes new life. A song that fills the soul. The grasses are bright and shiny. The shore fresh and cool. Drink the water that replenishes. Tastes the sweet summer berries. And be born again, renewed.

Notsnhoj

a lamentation in solitude

I hear a distant rumble,

The sky is overcast.

This world is dark and gloomy,

Where sunshine does not last.

My life is cast in shadow,

The void is my domain.

Through night and day it showers,

The bitterest of rains.

I walk the roads in blindness,

"Will no one give me light?"

I have no home to go to,

They shut me out at night.

They hurl insults and abuses,

With spite thrown at my face.

With flails of gall they scourge me,

To make me know my place.

I crawl, I run, I try to hide,

Where'er I turn, they know.

To mock me is their purpose,

I have no place to go.

I walk the moonlit doldrums,

No sound but the distant howl.

The shades too, they ignore me,

All life is naught but foul.

My sufferance exceeds the mountains.

My sky is overcast.

I curse my earthbound shadow,

Let the end come fast.

Notsnhoj

the beams that support

The clay crumbles beneath as our heavy boots scrape against the rocks. There is a long way to go as we ascend the slippery slope. Every step of the foot is a flip of the coin, every reach of the hand is a roll of the dice. We take our chances as they come. We fall when the gamble falls through. We push on, beyond all hope of turning back, yet short of the hope of standing on top. Fear is a constant, uncertainty is its foundation.

Will we ever hold the crown of victory? Are all things bleak? Do we climb for failure? Let us give up. I lack the zeal. I lack the will. Where does a Johnston stand in the grand scheme of things? Should I ever be needed? Let me rest, let me lie. Let the clouds roll by. I can live and I can die, and still the world will move around me.

As I look toward the summit, I see a hidden sun. Yet not even the mountain peak can mask its glory. The splendor of its rays reach out to the open skies. Far out and beyond, all the earth receives its warmth. My heart is filled with renewed courage. It beats again. Out of the heavens, come the ones with the same paths as mine own. Radiant with love, their faces are aglow. One goal. One vision. Their summit is none other than that of mine.

Sunbeams from heaven light our way. The light bounces off each crack and stone, surrounding me and filling me. With a palm upon my back and an arm linked in mine, I assail the ramparts. They are with me. Let none stop me! What could I have done alone? Yet now our steps are heard as one.

the heaviness of weariness

My head is heavy, my shoulders burdened. My worries weigh a ton, and my bothers bog me down. Life moves slowly along as I wade through the swamp. A swamp where I cannot see the end, and the beginning too is out of sight. This march is endless, it strains me. I am tired, my breath escapes me. Heavy. Heavy. Heavy. The load is heavy. A little more, and I would not bear. The end is never near, to hope I would not dare. How far is the road to liberty, my feet are worn and cannot hold. I struggle to move against the mud, like pushing against a stone. I move an inch by the hour, and the scenery does not change. I sigh and I pant, then I pant and I sigh. How much more do I have to go, against life’s tall obstacles. The knolls are high, and the valleys deep. The bush is thick and the roots hinder me. They trip me, and they hurt me. How long before I can lay down my jars, with burdens to the brim. Weary. Weary. Weary. My soul is weary.

Johnston

Is this a dream? Am I awake? Or merely lost in a story so torn apart by abstraction?

These days, I no longer smile the rented smile. There is only cheer in me. Like an unstoppable spring coming forth from my chest, such is my joy. It fills all the lakes of the earth, and floods the valleys. I can giggle, I can laugh, I can tap, I can dance. I can even do the whirls, but I cannot wipe this smirk off my face.

How silly I have become. Believing in the unknown, and hoping it will come true. My senses have been numbed by my absurdity. I can only see the colours of the new morning. I can only hear the songs of this enchantment. Sing to me, and let me be. My mind spends each waking moment by her side. My soul had long left me. All that is left is a mangled body hoping to do the same.

Perhaps now I understand a little more of what it means to lay heaven’s embroidered cloths before her feet. For all the riches under the sun would not suffice for the purchase of the gleam in her eye. Just let me be.

Notsnhoj

Who can restrain my unbridled heart? So full that all the deserts of the earth could not contain it.
Who can contain my rampant mind? With its endless wanderings by her side.

How I wish to embrace her very presence. To hold her hands and look into her eyes. To converse and laugh with her. To feel her joy and join in her merriment. Such fatuous thoughts! And yet, how they never cease to persist. From the morning to the evening, they torment me. But in my agony, I find sweet bliss. Who can stand against the tides of the heart? Each passing wave of emotion strikes ever stronger until we are powerless to resist!

Note that the author can neither comprehend nor fathom the very words that he writes. For his mind and his heart have never been very close associates.

And none of this makes any sense! Why should I be moved? Is it written somewhere? Perhaps in the Bible? No, there is not! Why should I have to abandon the happiness of my singularity? This is utterly unfair.

Despite that, I shall persist to the very end. Until we are old and toothless, and our hands to weak to touch.