Don't you dare claim you have purity. We live in the same den of desperation, and we are of the same imperfect ilk. Who are you to say otherwise? How dare you build that towering throne in front of us, sitting upon it like royalty. It is a throne made of lies, delusions; and you make the poorest of us as supports for this throne. You've only climbed on a mound of carrion, and you are not a king. You are a vulture, preying only on those who cannot defend themselves. I hope that rotten meat satiates you, Lord of Flies. Where is your humanity? As for ours, we have humanity so far up the ass it presses against the inside of our skulls, making the eyes water, sitting on the heart, making it heavy. It is impossible to be falling down this rabbit hole without getting your fluffy white tail dirtied. We have the strength and bravery to accept this fact, and you'll always be the poor one to wrong, in a world where right and wrong cannot be discerned.

Unthrifty loveliness why dost thou spend,

Upon thy self thy beauty's legacy?

Nature's bequest gives nothing but doth lend,

And being frank she lends to those are free:

Then beauteous niggard why dost thou abuse,

The bounteous largess given thee to give?

Profitless usurer why dost thou use

So great a sum of sums yet canst not live?

For having traffic with thy self alone,

Thou of thy self thy sweet self dost deceive,

Then how when nature calls thee to be gone,

What acceptable audit canst thou leave?

   Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee,

   Which used lives th' executor to be.

Beauty is as beauty does

The soul knows that's the heart

Of the place where poetry goes

In search of sympathy and art.

It falls and withers I suppose

Til someone breathes a kiss

A sandy moment of nibbling bliss

Sometimes also killing us.

Then ofttimes cutting to the quick

Where the red fox lives her myth

Dreaming dreams of happiness

Hopefully found but often missed.

Just as the limpid pool is left forlorn

In the roseate gloom of a wispy dawn

Her lovely words a prickling thorn

Her anxious hopes disgarded pawns.

But then and thus we bear a cross

And vision images we can but mourn

That sometimes leave us at a loss

But teach us how to ease our pain.

While standing high above us tall

Finding us ancient mysteries

Is the oracle who can riddle us

And even make the priest confess.

It's a tough world we inhabit

With extremes of agony and bliss

To which the heart makes us listen

And the aching soul answers, 'I exist'.

Dear poet, or poets, if you find yourselves, this is about you. Otherwise, it is all about me, as I would like to see myself but can never be.

        After a few hours the road began to be rough, and the walking grew so difficult that the Scarecrow often stumbled over the yellow bricks, which were here very uneven. Sometimes, indeed, they were broken or missing altogether, leaving holes that Toto jumped across and Dorothy walked around. As for the Scarecrow, having no brains, he walked straight ahead, and so stepped into the holes and fell at full length on the hard bricks. It never hurt him, however, and Dorothy would pick him up and set him upon his feet again, while he joined her in laughing merrily at his own mishap.

        The farms were not nearly so well cared for here as they were farther back. There were fewer houses and fewer fruit trees, and the farther they went the more dismal and lonesome the country became.

        At noon they sat down by the roadside, near a little brook, and Dorothy opened her basket and got out some bread. She offered a piece to the Scarecrow, but he refused.

        "I am never hungry," he said, "and it is a lucky thing I am not, for my mouth is only painted, and if I should cut a hole in it so I could eat, the straw I am stuffed with would come out, and that would spoil the shape of my head."

        Dorothy saw at once that this was true, so she only nodded and went on eating her bread.

        "Tell me something about yourself and the country you came from," said the Scarecrow, when she had finished her dinner. So she told him all about Kansas, and how gray everything was there, and how the cyclone had carried her to this queer Land of Oz.

        The Scarecrow listened carefully, and said, "I cannot understand why you should wish to leave this beautiful country and go back to the dry, gray place you call Kansas."

        "That is because you have no brains" answered the girl. "No matter how dreary and gray our homes are, we people of flesh and blood would rather live there than in any other country, be it ever so beautiful. There is no place like home."

        The Scarecrow sighed.

        "Of course I cannot understand it," he said. "If your heads were stuffed with straw, like mine, you would probably all live in the beautiful places, and then Kansas would have no people at all. It is fortunate for Kansas that you have brains."

        "Won't you tell me a story, while we are resting?" asked the child.

        The Scarecrow looked at her reproachfully, and answered:

        "My life has been so short that I really know nothing whatever. I was only made day before yesterday. What happened in the world before that time is all unknown to me. Luckily, when the farmer made my head, one of the first things he did was to paint my ears, so that I heard what was going on. There was another Munchkin with him, and the first thing I heard was the farmer saying, 'How do you like those ears?'

        "'They aren't straight,'" answered the other.

        "'Never mind,'" said the farmer. "'They are ears just the same,'" which was true enough.

        "'Now I'll make the eyes,'" said the farmer. So he painted my right eye, and as soon as it was finished I found myself looking at him and at everything around me with a great deal of curiosity, for this was my first glimpse of the world.

        "'That's a rather pretty eye,'" remarked the Munchkin who was watching the farmer. "'Blue paint is just the color for eyes.'

        "'I think I'll make the other a little bigger,'" said the farmer. And when the second eye was done I could see much better than before. Then he made my nose and my mouth. But I did not speak, because at that time I didn't know what a mouth was for. I had the fun of watching them make my body and my arms and legs; and when they fastened on my head, at last, I felt very proud, for I thought I was just as good a man as anyone.

        "'This fellow will scare the crows fast enough,' said the farmer. 'He looks just like a man.'

        "'Why, he is a man,' said the other, and I quite agreed with him. The farmer carried me under his arm to the cornfield, and set me up on a tall stick, where you found me. He and his friend soon after walked away and left me alone.

        "I did not like to be deserted this way. So I tried to walk after them. But my feet would not touch the ground, and I was forced to stay on that pole. It was a lonely life to lead, for I had nothing to think of, having been made such a little while before. Many crows and other birds flew into the cornfield, but as soon as they saw me they flew away again, thinking I was a Munchkin; and this pleased me and made me feel that I was quite an important person. By and by an old crow flew near me, and after looking at me carefully he perched upon my shoulder and said:

        "'I wonder if that farmer thought to fool me in this clumsy manner. Any crow of sense could see that you are only stuffed with straw.' Then he hopped down at my feet and ate all the corn he wanted. The other birds, seeing he was not harmed by me, came to eat the corn too, so in a short time there was a great flock of them about me.

        "I felt sad at this, for it showed I was not such a good Scarecrow after all; but the old crow comforted me, saying, 'If you only had brains in your head you would be as good a man as any of them, and a better man than some of them. Brains are the only things worth having in this world, no matter whether one is a crow or a man.'

        "After the crows had gone I thought this over, and decided I would try hard to get some brains. By good luck you came along and pulled me off the stake, and from what you say I am sure the Great Oz will give me brains as soon as we get to the Emerald City."

        "I hope so," said Dorothy earnestly, "since you seem anxious to have them."

        "Oh, yes; I am anxious," returned the Scarecrow. "It is such an uncomfortable feeling to know one is a fool."

        "Well," said the girl, "let us go." And she handed the basket to the Scarecrow.

        There were no fences at all by the roadside now, and the land was rough and untilled. Toward evening they came to a great forest, where the trees grew so big and close together that their branches met over the road of yellow brick. It was almost dark under the trees, for the branches shut out the daylight; but the travelers did not stop, and went on into the forest.

        "If this road goes in, it must come out," said the Scarecrow, "and as the Emerald City is at the other end of the road, we must go wherever it leads us."

        "Anyone would know that," said Dorothy.

        "Certainly; that is why I know it," returned the Scarecrow. "If it required brains to figure it out, I never should have said it."

        After an hour or so the light faded away, and they found themselves stumbling along in the darkness. Dorothy could not see at all, but Toto could, for some dogs see very well in the dark; and the Scarecrow declared he could see as well as by day. So she took hold of his arm and managed to get along fairly well.

        "If you see any house, or any place where we can pass the night," she said, "you must tell me; for it is very uncomfortable walking in the dark."

        Soon after the Scarecrow stopped.

        "I see a little cottage at the right of us," he said, "built of logs and branches. Shall we go there?"

        "Yes, indeed," answered the child. "I am all tired out."

        So the Scarecrow led her through the trees until they reached the cottage, and Dorothy entered and found a bed of dried leaves in one corner. She lay down at once, and with Toto beside her soon fell into a sound sleep. The Scarecrow, who was never tired, stood up in another corner and waited patiently until morning came.

Foreplay injected deep

Seasoned kisses infused

Your love marinated my appetite

~ADayDreamWriter

Two roads diverged on the path I took,

And sorry I could not take both

And only being me, I checked my phone

And searched for where I was,

And where the road may have ended up;

Then searched the other, so as to be fair,

With it having perhaps the better chance,

Because it was short and led somewhere;

Though as for that idea of going there

They had destinations about the same,

And both roads that morning equally lay

Without traffic in my way

Oh, I kept the first for another day,

Yet knowing how often I was late,

I doubted if I would ever go upon the slower route.

I shall be telling this without a sigh

Somewhere hours and hours past:

Two roads diverged on a path, and I-

I took the one that was quicker,

And that has made all the difference. (In getting to work on time-Hooray!)

I love many of Robert Frost's poems and the classic "The Road Not Taken" is one of my favorites. However in the modern age, I can't imagine picking which way to go based on the amount of wear or travel that has occurred on the path. The symbolism of the original poem is grand, But, I wanted to showcase that in this day and age, choices are impacted so much by technology and efficiency. In this case-how much time would each road take to get one's destination? 

It happened to be just the other day,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That I heard the broken tears of a maiden whom you may know

By the name of Annabel Lee

This maiden she sobbed, as did I, because she could no longer 

Love and be loved by me.

I had aged, and she had aged,

In this kingdom by the sea,

But yet even with a failing heart, I still have love for 

I and my Annabel Lee,

And I mourn for what was lost because so many 

Coveted her and me.

I sit alone, and pass time skipping stones

In this kingdom by the sea,

And day and night I recall the chilling of

My beautiful Annabel Lee;

The ocean of my tears swallowed her,

And bore her away from me;

I imagine that now she sleeps alone,

In this kingdom by the sea.

When a love is stronger than the magic of angels, 

Many went envying her and me -

Yes! - that was the reason (as all men know,

In this kingdom by the sea)

That I was left alone and lost after our demons came,

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. 

Though it is true that they tried, with hatred in their eyes,

They came after her and me

I held onto her as tightly as I could,

And I shattered as she was thrown into the sea

Perhaps my cries were heard, as I screamed 

"Come back to me, my beautiful, the beautiful Annabel Lee." 

But our love it was stronger by far than the love

Of those who were older than we—

Of many far wiser than we—

And neither the angels in Heaven above

Nor the demons down under the sea

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

As the sun goes down and shines its last gleam, I dream 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And oh the stars how they fall, life means nothing at all, without the light

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee,

And all night I abide, I remain by her side

Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,

The most sane I have ever been, I jumped heart first into the sea 

To join the beautiful Annabel Lee,

Now I lay with her, sleeping soundly, 

In her tomb in the sounding sea. 

Once upon a midnight dreary, 

I find myself engaged with Siri.

On a frosty football Sunday super, 

she stirs me from my evening stupor.

I haven't asked for her advice,

yet now I hear her voice so nice.

All alone there with my Apple honey,

her heartfelt answers are on the money.

Now quite startled, I'm on my feet,

her compu-voice saying "Send a tweet."

A MySpace man in a Facebook world,

my whole existence comes unfurled.

So lonely as it rains outside,

I know that I've no place to hide.

Lacking friends and without a job,

I'm destined now to sit and sob.

But hearing me whimper, sigh, and bleat,

Siri whispers, "Send a tweet."

Now I'm waiting for a Lyft,

Siri's jealous, her voice quite miffed.

But friend that she is,

she'll still repeat,

to my cold, dark soul "Send a tweet."

I jump in my ride,

leaving phone behind.

I'm not the techno-geeky kind.

But I hear her still,

suggestion sweet,

paramour Siri: "Send a tweet."