(“Below the Heavens” is an album I’ll love forever.  It’s a record in which I have a different favorite song after playing it.  Day 242…)

Traveling down this yellow brick road until it frees me.  I need a pen.  I need a pad.  I need a place to go to get this shit lifted off of my soul…

The Universe makes no mistakes
It’s more than coincidence, to me,
That a man named Frost
Wrote about a less traveled path.

The chilly wind follows like a surname
Adding echoes to voices accompanying me
Reminding me of the loneliness.

In solitude
Each step creaky
Unsure if this is hajj or exile
Paradise can’t be felt
Touching wintry branches attached to cold shoulders
And the warmth of the group meandering through the other path
Is too far

When the end is not in sight
The end
Is an idea I’m imagining as happily as ever after can be for a storyteller
That fights the thought of writing as only a falling action.

Dear Mr. Frost
The Road Not Traveled is not as pleasant as your words are.
But you knew that.