The Golden Night

                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;

                Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken



The night intensely filled the sky with golden paint
It’s dripping down into the silent chilly ground
I reach my hands under the rain; I feel the pain
Turning into many little creeks, melted and drowned

My stream reflects the golden rainy sky,
A lonely man in front of two diverged roads –
He wanders which of two to travel by
And chooses one to be the path he follows.

I want to be a tear upon his cheek
To tell him that he’s not alone on the journey,
But cold my stream along the road, strong and quick
Runs rapidly into the night still dark and stormy.

And all the gold and darkness of the night
Descends onto the tired curvy shoulders.
My waters reach the sea – there stops my fight.
The man still stays in front of two divergent roads…