My poem Why Bother? As I walk down this winding path, I often wonder where I will end up. There was a beginning some time ago behind me. I wish I could see what is in front of me. It is like I am blind but I see things as they happen. Flashes from a dream. Wishes that are true. Leaves roll by my feet, scraping my legs. I'm not sure how far I have walked or how long it's been. I am sure that there were people that walked the same path once long ago, but there are no traces of them. I can only hear the soft whispers of the wind. I look to see farther, but all i can see is whiteness. When I look behind me, i see everything. I dont understand why I cannot see what is in front of me yet I can see what I have walked through and which path I have chosen. I do not understand why I choose these paths. I just walk a certain way when I see it. I don't seem to understand why I choose it or how I choose it. It is just a choice made. There is nothing that pushes me to do anything. Though I know someone is watching me, Laughing scornfully every time I take a wrong step. I can't go back. I can only walk around blindly in front of me. I know what I step into in the moment. I can pause and keep going, I can keep going, or I can stop. There shouldn't be a reason for me to stop. If I stop, I end everything. I should pause to think. So why haven't I done it? I'm not sure. Regrets of choice. They whisper behind me. They know what I will choose. They know where I am going. What I am going to do. Why don't they tell me? They want me to suffer. They want me to cry. They want me to laugh. They want me to cheer. They want me to feel. They want me to appreciate everything. They want me to learn. They will help me along the way. I look above me and all I see are the trees, looming over me like an eerie shadow, shedding no light. There are no lights. I only see glints of red and black. My arms are extended to feel what is in front of me. I feel what will come next. I fear it. I love it. I want it. I know it. I hate it. I wonder about it. I feel Her open arms. She grabs my hand. I look around and I see the green trees. I see the brightness of the sun. The sun stings my eyes. She helps me see. I see where I am going. I look behind me and i see the dark forest fade away. All I see in front of me is beauty. The beauty of life. ~Amy

On the road that I have taken,

one day, walking, I awaken,

amazed to see where I have come,

where I'm going, where I'm from

This is not the path I thought.

This is not the place I sought.

This is not the dream I bought,

just a fever of fate I've caught.

I'll change highways in a while

at the crossroads, one more mile.

My path is lit by my own fire.

I'm only going where I desire.

On the road that I have taken, one day, walking, I awaken. One day, walking, I awaken, on the road that I have taken. The Raven Edgar Allan Poe Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore- While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door-- “Tis some visiter,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door-- Only this and nothing more.” Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow;--vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow--sorrow for the lost Lenore-- For the rare and radiant maiden whom the anges name Lenore-- Nameless here for evermore. And the silken, sad, uncertai rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me--filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating “‘Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door-- Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door-- This it is and nothing more.” Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, “Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you”--here I opened wide the door;-- Darkness there and nothing more. Deep into that darkenss peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But there the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore!” This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!” Merely this and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before. “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-- Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-- ‘Tis the wind and nothing more!” Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saitly days of yore; Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-- Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, “Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore-- Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!” Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.” Much I marvelled this ungainly fown to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning--little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door-- Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as “Nevermore.” But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing farther then he uttered-not a feather when he fluttered- Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before- On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.” Then the bird said “Nevermore.” Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, “Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore- Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of ‘Never-nevermore.” But the Raven still beguiliing my sad fancy into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Unto fancy, thinking what this omnious bird of yore- What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and omnious bird of yore Meant in croaking “Nevermore.” Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er, She shall press, ah nevermore! Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee-by these angels he hath sent thee Respite-respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore; Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this Lenore!” Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.” “Prophet!” said I, “think of evil!-prophet still, if bird or devil!!- Whether Temper sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted- Oh this home by Horror haunted-tell me truly, I implore- Is there-is there balm in Gilead?-tell me-tell me, I implore!” Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.” “Prophet!” said I, “think of evil!-prophet still, if bird or devil!!- By that Heaven that bends above us-by that God we both adore- Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore- Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.” Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.” “Be that word our sign or parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting- “Get thee back into the temest and the Night’s Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken!-quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!” Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.” And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted-nevermore! You think it might be easier to click the back button than this part to get to the main page.