It's not goodbye...

A million little pieces
Is what you are made of
Leaving particles of your soul
Imprint of your self
Every time you breathe in the air
Exhaling your life and
 filling the place 
with your presence
They say man blesses the place
The many places he touches, 
become his own
Perhaps you were already 
there
In a dream
You'll always be in the place you see, 
you threaded on
Your body molding in with the hot sand 
of the beach
The wave gently caressing 
your foot
The sweet smell 
of plumeria
Or the piece of grass that gently
 touched your hair
In the hot breeze 
of the sunset
You are the ocean
The wild whisper in the thicket
Or perhaps the crashing wave
Melodies at sunset
Or chirps at morning
You will always
Be here

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

On roads, more or less traveled, opportunities and greener pastures

So much in life remains unsaid or uncommunicated for so many reasons. Through poetry we can release some of the unknown, allowing an in into the very depth of our soul. So much can't be said, but verses help us heal and cope. This is how I deal with life. Through poetry...


Robert Frost (1874–1963).  Mountain Interval.  1920.
 
1. 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;        
 
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.