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Have you seen a place with no starlight?
An empty place, an eternal night.
But you can imagine bright stars here.
To comfort your heart, the stars so dear.
Even in the void, there is still light.

It is the faded light, of your soul.
Your eternal heart, that keeps you whole.
In the ruins of what was once was.
Your reason for being, your true cause.
What is really you, from days of ole.

The wind may blow cold snares and frost bites.
And there is nothing here, no grand sites.
But you can still make something from this.
Whether trees, mountains, or lovely bliss.
Darkness shrouds, but your soul can ignite.

What will you see in this empty void?
Will you stay and see? Or just avoid?
It doesn't matter, honesty does.
To be honest, important, because.
So you can dream, true dreams in this void.

I can't say much more, about this dark place.
It is not a place, for which to pace.
It is dark, an endless abyssal.
But in the wind, hear a faint whistle.
Of other dreamers, lost into space.

Have you seen a place where dreams can grow?
A starry place, an eternal glow.
Despite the shadows, stars still shine here.
To inspire your heart, their love so dear.
Even in the void, dreams you can sow.

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*For Fire and Ice.
It follows a rather unusual rhyming scheme of ABAABCBCB.
Only 10 lines long and one of his more...short poems.
Mostly consists of one speaker contemplating the end of the world...
Kind of depressing but humorous at the same time?

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Fire and Ice.
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice
Ghost House.
I dwell in a lonely house I know
That vanished many a summer ago,
And left no trace but the cellar walls,
And a cellar in which the daylight falls
And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow.

O’er ruined fences the grape-vines shield
The woods come back to the mowing field;
The orchard tree has grown one copse
Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops;
The footpath down to the well is healed.

I dwell with a strangely aching heart
In that vanished abode there far apart
On that disused and forgotten road
That has no dust-bath now for the toad.
Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart;

The whippoorwill is coming to shout
And hush and cluck and flutter about:
I hear him begin far enough away
Full many a time to say his say
Before he arrives to say it out.

It is under the small, dim, summer star.
I know not who these mute folk are
Who share the unlit place with me—
Those stones out under the low-limbed tree
Doubtless bear names that the mosses mar.

They are tireless folk, but slow and sad—
Though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,—
With none among them that ever sings,
And yet, in view of how many things,
As sweet companions as might be had.

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*Nature, lots of it!
*Everyday Life. (ok?)
*Isolation...
*Reality vs. Imagination.

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*Robert Frost was born on March 26, 1874, in San Francisco.
*After the death of his father to tuberculosis, he, his mother and sister moved to Lawrence, Massachusetts.
*He got into literature during his high school years.
*Attended Harvard, but never received a formal college degree.
*Traveled abroad in the North East and England which served the basis for some of his poems.
*Married Elinor White, who severed as a source of inspiration until her death in 1938.
*Won 4 Pulitzer Prizes, among other awards.
*Read a poem at President Kennedy's inauguration?!
*Died in Boston, on January, 1963.

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*Inspired by contemporary poets.
*British poets to be exact.
*Edward Thomas.
*Rupert Brooke.
*Robert Graves.
*Was also friends with Ezra Pound.