Robert Frost Lied To Us

There is no road,
though Frost told us so
and it is cold tonight and
I have no place to go.

Home is but a ride away,
cigarette’s are in the ashtray, dried,
and I do not smoke them each day
not since my last try.

My bed is clean; white and tidy,
that’s the third time since Friday, I’ve planned
ahead this week but not taken it lightly,
they’ve left me lonesome and unmanned.

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Tomorrow sees the release of Departure Date, my new collection of poems that you can download for free. Details to follow!
Departure Date by Tim Knight