Whose woods are these? I think I know
His house is in the village though
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake
The woods are lovely, dark and deep
But I have promises to keep
And miles to go before I sleep
And many more before the deep
Contemplating nothingness
until I am finally free
From the constant existential threats
that always seem to be
Is there a state of consciousness
where one can simply be?
Without the constant maintenance
A truer way to be free?
Back into town with the muffled sound
of the snow fallen on the ground
Beneath the mask lies the path
With it's footprints that can still be found
It seems it travelled a long long way
And now I haven't long to go
My horse is getting tired and lame
A final bow for the end of the show
Contemplating nothingness
until I am finally free
From the constant existential threats
that always seem to be
Is there a state of consciousness
where one can simply be?
Without the constant maintenance
A truer way to be free?
Meditating on nothingness
until I am no longer me
My consciousness like the wind
blowing free upon the breeze
Never to return to a
place of worry and or fear!
Say goodbye to the fallen world
Never returning here!