The Roads Not Taken Poem Novels & Stories

“Is that what you want, Margaret? After all the years we’ve lived together.” A feeling of guilt rushed over me. I was like a child at a crossroads. In front of me were two roads that were both covered in fog. I didn’t know what was waiting for me at the end of the road. However, suddenly on the other road, I saw a man extending his hand. He called out. “Hold my hand. Don’t be afraid. I will always take care of you. Come on, take my hand.” However, on the other side of the street, out of the fog, came a man who just stood staring at me without saying or doing anything.

Just the road and the speed and the specific relief of movement when staying still had become something I couldn't do. I took roads I didn't need to take. Longer routes, empty stretches, the kind of driving that existed for its own sake. I'd done this after my father died. Just driven until the city ran out and kept going. It hadn't helped then. I ended up on the road to the hill. I didn't decide to go there. I just ended up on that road the way you end up in certain places when you're not deciding anything. I recognised it when the fields started looking familiar on both sides.

He said, "Everyone is stuck here. If I were to clear a path just for you, others would call it a misuse of power. Daphne, are you just trying to get me in trouble?" My mother was so anxious that she began sweating profusely. She yelled, "This is a matter of life and death! Is this how you police officers do your job?" Half an hour ago, I returned to the day my father collapsed. Still stuck in traffic, I did not ask my husband, Jonathan Reed, who was conducting the traffic, for help. Instead, I forced my way through the stream of cars and turned sharply into a side road with fewer vehicles. I did not even have the time to step on the gas pedal when Francis appeared, blocking my car.

“Both roads are real. Neither one is shouting louder than the other.” “I no longer feel the need to decide quickly.” “The land will wait while we choose. It has waited through every night we have stayed out. It can wait longer.” We walked on. The wind tugged at my clothes and pushed cold fingers down the back of my neck. It carried the dry clean scent of grass and open earth. No path marked these hills. Only the direction our feet chose. Ezra said, “Quick decisions used to feel necessary. Like the whole day would crack open if we did not pick a side before night.”

Be careful on the road. I looked at the message and did not reply. Just then, my phone rang. It was Tristan. I hesitated for a few seconds, then answered. His voice was quiet. "I'm nearby. Can I see you for a moment?" I looked downstairs. He stood beneath a streetlamp, wearing a black coat. The fog blurred half his outline. It reminded me of years ago, when his startup had failed, and he stood downstairs at my place, lost, yet stubborn. Back then, I had run down and hugged him. Now, I only said, "Alright."

Penny trembled as she opened her mouth slightly and read Darryl’s poem. “Over old trees wreathed with ancient vines and flying evening crows. “Under a small bridge at a nearby cottage, a stream flows. “On an ancient road in the west wind, a lean horse goes. “Westward the setting sun goes. “Far from home was the heartbroken one!” Westward the setting sun goes. Far from home was the heartbroken one! The entire city rumbled in cheers in the blink of an eye. It was a great poem! There was nothing like it!

I only had a year to find my answers, no distractions was a good way to start. "Venus, honey, are you ready?" My mom called me from the kitchen, as I opened my bedroom door. "Yes, mom be right there." I called back. Walking towards the kitchen, I was singing Famous Last Words out loud. "I am not afraid to keep on living, I am not afraid to walk this world alone, honey if you stay I'll be forgiven, Nothing you can say can stop me going home. Can you see my eyes are shining bright? Cause I'm out here on the other side of a jet black hotel mirror and I'm so weak..."

The sun, relentless and unforgiving, beat down on the dusty path leading from the servants’ quarters to the main house. I was ten, and the path was etched into my memory, every pebble, every crack. It was a route I knew intimately, yet one I was rarely allowed to fully explore. My world was largely confined to the small, neat rooms behind the imposing mansion, a world of hushed conversations and the ever-present scent of cleaning products and warm food.

The one you hold isn't the one you were meant to hold, for the love you feel is but an echo cast by the original light, amplified by lifetimes of searching and the desperation of a soul that knows it's incomplete. Two roads diverge in a dark wood. And you, Great King, must choose which path to walk. The first road is paved with defiance. Upon it, thorns grow thick, tearing at flesh with every step while the sky above weeps blood. I see devastation, I see pain beyond measure, and I see a woman weeping with empty arms and a barren womb. Again and again, life quickens within her only to be torn away before it can draw breath. I see her broken, kneeling upon bloodied sheets as her cries echo thr

Three years after my release from prison, I ran into my ex-wife in the presidential suite of the most exclusive hotel in Bayshore. It had been years since I last saw her. She was draped in a silk robe, radiating wealth. When she recognized me, something unreadable passed through Cecily Monroe's eyes. "On the day you got out, why didn't you wait for me to come pick you up?" I said nothing and handed over the takeout. Her gaze dropped to the scar on my wrist, and her breath caught. "I went too far with that. But you've always been tougher than Adrian. You can always get back on your feet." She was talking about what happened six years ago, when Adrian Burke was involved in a catastrophic