Back to reading them. This is one of my favorites. Road not taken by Robert Frost.. I specially like the last two lines..
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could...
What is life?
What is or purpose in life?
Why are we here?
What are the mysterious of the world?
How can they be solved?
What is purpose?
I got inspired to write poems from this guy recently.. And now I seem to like it. Tell me what you think:
I saw him yesterday
as quiet as a dead bird
and he spoke words
A view from the bathroom mirror
Rugged face, spot scarred.
And you've caught me rearranging my cowlick,
What used to be soft skin, now has a minefield of prickly strands...
I write so-called poems
when the nights are long--
sing the praises of false ladies--
through the dark hours
I push words out of place.
thin lips, gray eyes, blonde hair...