I'm dying,
Feeling the comforting cloud of death
doing flip-flops through my strain.
Energy bursts are useless attempts
     at frosting flakes of panic and regrets.
Slipping.
Forgetting.
Curt instructions from a dangerous smile.

Cloud of death. Your mysterious tension
        caresses every
        blood-vein in my body.
My lungs restrict,
my lungs constrict.
Empty shallow boxes
      filled with the nothing of
        resistance.

Can’t anyone see? Does anybody know?

Does
    anybody
     have the
      slightest idea
       of just how
        tiresome
         paying
          attention
           can be?

So let me go. So leave me alone.
Let the fibres of believing unravel,
        slip apart
        like
        cracked glass
          about to
          shatter.
I'm hurting.
Disillusioned membranes zoning into silence.
The self-illusion so palpable and strong.
Hope
      is for people
             who have
                   flowers to grow.

With your heart buttoned up tight
And your soul scrubbed to transluscence
You tip-toed around mountains
And visited the sand and sea
Contained in your selfness
And at ease in your skin
You glided without leaving footsteps
With the grace of angels
Perhaps a church ***** and choir
Vibrated in the air
But the world moved on
At a less sedate rate of orbit
And sadly
It would not
And could not
Wait

                                 By Phil Roberts

Walking in the cold rain
Alone and
Going nowhere
Just hiding tears in raindrops

Always dreaming of being lost
Lost and then
The endless fall
Then the gasping awakening

But always the rain will end
And sunrise
Put an end
To the cruelty of night

And life will begin in warmth
And hope
Blossoms
Into the sweetest softest petals

                                           By Phil Roberts

Tree, I have come to shelter and with the rain to weep
I am soaked, barefoot, with mud running through
soft the moss, cool and cold
to soothe my heart that bleeds.
Our waxing nights of love and moons
now fallow, a field that burns
****** our hollow bed
of haunting, silent screams
too soon the fiery devil
too far my lover
the spring.

A box of memories doth open
From present to past woken
Tale tellers magical words spoken
Childhood to adult chains broken

Carefree of the worlds way
Fun with friends under suns ray
Games of football on grass and clay
Homework to do end of the day

Innocent fights forgotten and forgiven
A bicycle a treasure god given
Fear of lessons and teachers cane forgotten
The ringing bell awaited as blessing given

Candy and ice cream shared
A bruised leg or arm never cared
A holiday never missed or spared
Oh sweet memories lay bared

Days of young where hath it gone
Innocence of time lost and torn
Days of young await its morn
Days of young be again born

waves of peace

flow gently over me

and fill me

ground to dust

then born anew

life glistens

©2016janetaylor