Sing not, Heaven’s angel.
Need I not blessed bath.
Even as the world’s Abel.
For I shall travel my own path.
May my eyes be open.
Need I not to be saved.
No shepherd shall be my deacon.
Be I not the black sheep enslaved.
Through Hell’s fire and flames.
Need I not run away.
Suffer I through absolute maims.
Let me be smoldered someday.
Achieve I the third eye.
Need I not bow to might.
Enlighten me not up way high.
For I will gain genuine sight.
I am the pariah.
Need I not bequeath will.
May I be my own messiah.
Mark I my wisdom through the quill.
Savior be my soul.
Need I not Paradise.
Through the road less taken I go.
Gain I illumination trice.
Know I walk the way of the heart.
Need I not be seen vile.
As a pariah, I shall part.
Through these words I can now smile.
“I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I–
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference” – Robert Frost, “The Road Less Travelled”