| Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening | |||
| 11:16am 15/10/2008 | |||
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Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost Whose woods these are 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 miles to go before I sleep. |
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| Post | |||
| i still think your high..i sure wish i was..that reminds me.. | ||||
| 11:19am 15/10/2008 | ||||
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| Read 3 - Post | ||||
| The first taste. | |||
| 01:08pm 15/10/2008 | |||
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What is the mind? Doesn't matter. What is matter? Never mind. This is the reason I have created this space where minds may wander to their hearts content. Assuming minds have hearts, and legs with which to wander. For inspiration! For procreation! For annihilation! One of those things is not like the other. Or are they? Simply put, it is wasted time. Or is it simply time used? It is still there, left past as the clock ticks away, able to be snatched with the proper use of memory and strength of will. Could we not be the vessels of time travel sought in the greatest of fictions? |
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| Read 1 - Post | |||
| most if not all of what you consider reality is a self induced illusion so yeah..it dont matter | ||||
| 01:57pm 15/10/2008 | ||||
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| Read 8 - Post | ||||
| funny how? | ||||
| 04:29pm 15/10/2008 | ||||
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| Read 11 - Post | ||||
crazy| atrophicthought | ||
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