Chased by the Ways of the World


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I can see the gentle stokes of color, just like the softness the heart whispers.

Whispered words, cannot be heard
But, only by the heart
As it should be
My love, my love


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Some things in life are worth doing it again. The exactness of that feeling will never come again, but, the joy? Does it matter when the joy is still there? I have hiked some of the same paths for years, not every time, but, time and again, I come back to revist, look to see the small things I missed on other trips. It is the same trail, but, different view. Do you purposely go a different way?


It is nice to have a fresh voice, day in, day out. But the charm of elevating this day trumps finding another to take its place.


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Some days
Your beauty will spill over
Captivating
Turning my life
Inspiring those words wrapped in my thoughts
Reminding me, today
What a wonderful life


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Never to be chased by the ways of the world, run away! Run away!
Leaving instead a dreamy image that will lift the heart for the journey of the words
Sort your heart, letting love take the lion's share, kindness be second in command the rest to good deeds.


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Words have some degree of inadequacy
When I gaze upon your loveliness
You speak without saying a word
Unfurling your very thoughts
Into the whispers of the woods


Seems I have more of these than I deserve. Sometimes life is just too good to me. And they jump. Isn't that a bonus?


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All I have are my words, armed in my mind, written in pen, stand by stand. Oh, yes. Still by hand. It has a different feel. Altered not by keys, backspace, and delete, I write, erase, tear it to pieces and start all over again. And again.

It’s my way. I walk out to the deep end of the page and dive right in.

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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.

Robert Frost


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