"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,"
Branches apart like contours brown,
Uncaring flakes of life long stood,
An afterthought to flutter down.
Three rivers convening beneath a bough,
A gurgling debate of mouths so fast,
By their own paths alone they vow,
Resolve resounding in woods so vast.
Four roots like serpents of umber light,
Twisting in the earth-brown skies,
Diving to escape the shower's sight,
Evading each of a thousand eyes.
A stage awash in power surged,
And from every gust new lives call,
Yet what is fate but roads diverged?
For all the world is one long fall.
And here I write, once again, in the wake of a Divergence poem, (the series title even better connected in this instance) the latest of a series of poems that stem from the beginning of a famous work. Here, I decided to diverge from "The Road Not Taken," and take an even less expected turn in an effort to put a unique spin on Robert Frost's preeminent work.
On a side note (or perhaps more of a "below note," as these all seem to be), I am currently in the process of adding tags and a sidebar organizer to the blog, which will greatly help in organizing the chaos of chronological blog posts. For example, this post might be tagged "divergence" and "rhyme." You get the idea.
