She holds tight her Rosary beads
Kneeling down amongst all the weeds
Hoping they don't go to seed
Praying for relief

Mumbling in monotone
Knowing she is not alone
In the heart of the Father at home
Even rocks groan

Sorrow builds itself a nest
Justly in its righteousness
How much more can she take of this
World where ignorance is bliss

Hangs with the sinners and saints
Who's who is at times hard to say
No need to give it away
Where there will come a day

But until that day comes
Refuses to go totally numb
To much truth in her soul to play dumb
With the beads she'll tightly hold on

He offered her the world
But she said she only desired his heart
He paused for a moment in complete silence
As he did not know where to start...

Why continue to hold the hand
Of this ugly bitterness
Wouldn't it suit you better
If it were buried in the past

Then you would be free
To enjoy the life of peace
That can only come to someone
When bitterness is released

It's like acid in the heart
That burns the tinder parts
Forming you into something you
Really wish you weren't

Better to take the bitterness you have
And let go of its hand
Then use that hand to reach the ones
You need to make amends

I'm in a dark place
But it's alright
I'm just resting my eyes
From the glaring light

                             By Phil Roberts

Tiny feathers.
Of black, white,
and softest brown.
Tiny wings fluttering.
With quiet sound.
Loud voice.
Of sweetest song.
Which can be heard.
From miles around.
"Swee, swee,"
calls the chickadee.
Handcrafted by God above,
the little chickadee
is a tiny miracle.
Of His love.