Inspired by The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost. Suggestion: Read The Road Not Taken before reading my version. It contains references to the lines.

Frost.

At the end of this road is my home.

You can see it too.

Squint your eyes a little, adjust your hand over your head, paint your vision with a tinge of blue.

and there you go,

beyond the caviar of trees, the hawks, the fleece,

within a mile is the silhouette of my house,

in my home’s debris.

You’re welcome to join me for a cup of coffee,

if only you trust me.

As you walk,

beware of the bushes and the thorns,

people say they turn poisonous at the break of dawn.

The trees filter the sun rays,

The yellow, dying wood, looks like gold in the middle of May.

The air, (you’d find me gasping for the most)

harbours the union of triumph and yearning,

for a shelter to call ours.

A journey, maybe without scars. A stretch, towards home and not the stars.

The path, laid with stones that sing

of times flown, forgotten, unknown:

The free might, the longest night, the bloodiest sight, the strength in fight.

You walk past the lane

Of music, cavalry, amidst Jane

when you breathe and the air stops

when you scream and your throat bleeds,

when you begin to see the bodies of who you must have been,

when you pick up your feet but they stay grounded

when you shiver but your body is mounted

that’s when you’ve hit my territory.

There is no going back,

I took the road less travelled by, you see.

And so did you.