AJ+Topps



**THE ROAD NOT TAKEN**
BY ROBERT FROST

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.

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.

**Pumpernickel**

Monday mornings Grandma rose an hour early to make rye, onion & challah, but it was pumpernickel she broke her hands for, pumpernickel that demanded cornmeal, ripe caraway, mashed potatoes & several Old Testament stories about patience & fortitude & for which she cursed in five languages if it didn’t pop out fat as an apple-cheeked peasant bride. But bread, after all, is only bread & who has time to fuss all day & end up with a dead heart if it flops? Why bother? I’ll tell you why. For the moment when the steam curls off the black crust like a strip of pure sunlight & the hard oily flesh breaks open like a poem pulling out of its own stubborn complexity a single glistening truth & who can help but wonder at the mystery of the human heart when you hold a slice up to the light in all its absurd splendor & I tell you we must risk everything for the raw recipe of our passion

Little Weapon By: Lupe Fiasco
 Little Terry got a gun, he got from the store, He bought it with the money he got from his chores, He robbed candy shop told her lay down on the floor, Put the cookies in his bag took the pennies out the drawer.

Little Kahlil got a gun he got from the rebels, To kill the infidels and American devils, A bomb on his waist, A mask on his face, Prays five times a day, And listens to Heavy Metal.

Little Alex got a gun he took from his dad, That he snuck into school in his black book bag, His black nail polish, black boots and black hair, He's gonna blow away the bully that just pushed his…

I killed another man today, Shot him in his back as he ran away, Then I blew up his hut with a hand grenade, Cut his wife's throat as she put her hands to pray, Just five more dawgs then we can get a soccer ball, That's what my commander say, How Old? Well I'm like ten, eleven, been fighting since I was like six or seven, Now I don't know much about where I'm from but I know I strike fear everywhere I come, Government want me dead so I wear my gun, I really want the rocket launcher but I'm still too young, This candy give me courage not to fear no one, To fear no pain, and hear no tongue, So I hear no screams and I shed no tear, If I'm in your dreams then your end is near. Yeah

Little Weapon, Little Weapon, Little Weapon We're calling you There's a war if the guns are just too tall for you We'll find you something small to use Little Weapon, Little Weapon, Little Weapon We need you now, pow

Now here comes the march of the boy brigade A macabre Parade of the toys he made And in Shimmer shades who looks half his age About half the size of the flags they waved And Camouflage suits that made to fit youths 'cause the ones of the dead soldiers hang a little loose And AK-47's that they shooting into heaven Like they're trying to kill the Jetson's They struggle little recruits Cute Smile less, Heartless, violent Childhood destroyed, devoid of all childish ways, Can't write their own names or read the words on their own graves Think you gangster popped a few rounds, These kids will come through and murder a whole town, Then sit back and smoke and watch it burn down, The grave gets deeper the further we go down

Imagine if I had to console, The family of those slain, I slain on game consoles, I aim I hold, right trigger to squeeze, press up and Y one less man breathe, B for the Bombs press pause for your moms, Make the room silent, she don't approve of violent games, She leaves resume activity, Start and blew hearts with poor harsh wizardry, On next part I insert code To sweeten up the little person' murder workload I tell him he work for CIA with A A operative, I operate this game all day I hold a controller connected to the soldier With weapons on his shoulder he's only seconds older than me We playful but serious, now keep that on mind for on line experience