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As I lie here
With eyes closed softly
I think deeply of you
And I inhale stars
The scent of twinkling light
So fresh and alive
Sparkling gentle inside me
And I want to write this feeling
So tentatively
As it must be
Like writing words on bubbles
Delicate and precious
Begging them not to disappear
Like dreams in the morning

                                        By Phil Roberts
This may well be my last poem here.
Tranquillity, the sea
                     I drown within.

Though no waves,
                I'm immersed
                          beneath.

Stillness withdraws,
                 breathless.
Seventeen,
Seventeen,
Glean the knowledge from the scene;
A tale written, read before,
Something's wrong, but something more --
Fear the nightmare, fear the dream,
Nothing stops at this machine;

Grasping rule yet leading blind,
Law will bind no bleeding mind
Intent on death, and peddled lines
Stray from course to fell the fruits,
As Red *** seeps through poisoned roots.

Mockingbird, mockingbird,
Tell me all the things you've heard...
They don't like it, so I like it,
I am like the mockingbird.
*Last stanza is meant to be italicized

This is sort of one of those feels-like-a-first-draft pieces, but I'm going to leave it alone for a while. If there are any parts that stand out to you as needing improvement, please don't hesitate to mention them!! Thank you!

[This poem covers some controversial aspects of the recent gun debates in the US, and expresses my personal views. You might not agree with me here, and that's perfectly fine. In fact, I encourage you to voice your own thoughts and opinions below, assuming we can all remain civil.

All sides have valid points to make on this issue. That's why it's such a difficult problem to solve. But discussion is good... Discussion is necessary. Constructive debate is the fuel for forward progress.]
galaxies of freckles
stippled across skin
stretch marks
made of outreaching nebulae
eyes like stars
and minds holding
entire universes
children of the deep
made of stardust
and dark matter
and yet some find themselves
imperfect
Vivid Neon Skies  
Drip,
      Drip,
           Sliding down the pain
Scratching, clawing
           searching for escape
Barely healing
           Rarely living
Corporate gowns of filth
               A shallow wasteland of next level haute
We cry out our blood is all red
      Til the stitching becomes undone
                  Hemorrhaging on the ground a Benjamin green
Peace
           Love
                    Total Collapse
Babble’s tower
           Jericho’s wall
                 Your Ivory towers
Ruins in due time
       Corrupt soil will not produce a healthy growth
Fields of violets
        A river’s bend
                 The very breath of life
Wonderfully misleading
                 Genuinely scarce
    Beyond our collective limits
Found are the Lost
                     Lost are the castaways
An hour glass that’s ever flipping
      Never fully reset
Grain by Grain, washed away
      Hostage to its environment
To a role it must play, despite conviction
              Tick,
                   Tick,
                        As time infinitely stands still
And goes by so fast, simultaneously
    Is that the haze we had hoped to create?
A line so blurred, that reality hangs upside down
         Deception
               Failure
                   Acceptance
               What’s your poison?
     Will it be your vice or virtue that places you into eternal slumber
Beautifully tragic
        Completely composed
                           T    O   X   I   C
Prometheus gave fire
to humanity and had
his innards guzzled
by vultures for it.

You gave me the sun
and I
unduly set myself
wholly
to the task of tearing
apart your insides.

Top to bottom, I stripped you
strip you,
will strip you
of all that makes you you and
I don't know how to stop
turning your yellow
to orange
to purple
to black
like my innards too. See,
I too once gave fire
to people and lovers and friends and
then
I set myself to the task of
tearing up apart
those various necessities that made me
me. Things like basic human kindness.
Simple rules like don't
involve yourself with so many girls
that you lose count while never losing
count. That sort of
thing, y'know.

Do you know how long I've been
trying to write you a poem called
Darjeeling? I've been trying  for
so long that I drink coffee now.

I've been trying for so long that
when the restaurant menu finally
reads 'Darjeeling tea' for so and so
price, I don't pay it and order
some mediocre hot-chocolate instead
(and even a Strawberry milkshake. What
does that say about me, I wonder?).

It was lukewarm. It didn't scald
my tongue like you did.

I suppose it never will.
[repeat sign]
The cat's in heat
and I can't remember
the last time I slept
without the endless
coo coo
of my sweetest kitten
howling like a wounded
dove
She is the moon.
“I see everyday in dark,
Keeping my eye closed.”
I don’t love her anymore but I still feel I care for you.
Time of death:
3:44.
When you told me you don't love me anymore.
Place of death:
The park where we met,
on a lazy Sunday afternoon.
I remember the dreaded words which escaped your lips,
the heat in your words,
the look on your face,
as I took a metaphorical bullet to the chest;
it hurt like Hell.
Cause of death:
You.
When you stabbed me in the heart for the first
and last time.
A fatal blow.
But in the coroner's office,
all the report will ever show is:
time of death:
3:44.
Cause of death:
Trauma to the chest.
When your heart gets broken by someone, it feels like you've been struck in the chest. The air feels like it's been knocked right out your lungs and you feel as though you can't breathe. You feel a mixture of emotions all blurred into one mess. You play the final exchange in your head over and over again, and each time it gets harder and harder. Heartbreak. It feels like you've been stabbed in the back and shot in the chest all at once.
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