The Road Not Taken

I stood where two paths broke the earth,

Not carved by maps, nor marked by worth.

Each wound into the woods unknown,

Where silence made the trees its own.

One trail was worn — not by the feet,

But by the eyes of the discreet;

The other, veiled in moss and doubt,

Seemed half-forgotten, fading out.

I chose the way that whispered loud,

With bent-back limbs and a stubborn shroud.

It asked no promise, gave no sign,

But something in its hush felt mine.

I told myself I’d come again

To find the first — the safer lane.

But seasons pass and roads decay,

And time does not give back the day.

Still, sometimes in the quiet dusk

When hours lie light and hearts go hushed,

I feel a breeze from far away

And wonder what that path would say.

Not in regret — not quite — but still

There’s something in that distant hill,

Some thread I never got to weave,

Some echo I could not retrieve.

And so I walk the one I chose,

Its turns unknown, its secrets close.

But shadows from the past remain—

Not ghosts,

Just roads that bore my name.