Words are harmless, so they say,
That's where the problem starts;
Sticks and stones
May break our bones
But words will break our hearts.



Words are harmless, so they say,
And point you to their charts;
It's harmless fun,
No damage done.
But... Who will mend our hearts?



The x-rays show no damage
Where words have scathed across,
But it still feels hard to manage,
And leaves you at a loss.



Words are harmless, don't complain,
That's where the problem starts.
It's quite absurd-
A single word-
Enough to break our hearts!



But words are harmless, they maintain;
The subject of their parts,
No less or more,
So let them pour
From all our broken hearts

Words are harmless, so they say,
That's where the problem starts;
Sticks and stones
May break our bones
But words will break our hearts.
Words are harmless, so they say,
And point you to their charts;
It's harmless fun,
No damage done.
But... Who will mend our hearts?
The x-rays show no damage
Where words have scathed across,
But it still feels hard to manage,
And leaves you at a loss.
Words are harmless, don't complain,
That's where the problem starts.
It's quite absurd-
A single word-
Enough to break our hearts!
But words are harmless, they maintain;
The subject of their parts,
No less or more,
so let them pour
From all our broken hearts

Death patiently files his nails
And smokes a casual cigarette
Grinning and eyeless
He says so calmly
"Catch you later
Brave little dreamer"

Despite such brittle certainty
Men and women build
Despite such small mortality
Every space is filled
In the midst of death's destruction
Men and women build again

Fear, like a cringing bowel
Exudes an acrid stench
And whimpers and whines
Simpers and cries
"Don't you dare
Don't you ever dare"

Despite this clinging dread
Some will need to dare
Despite the bursting head
Dreams insist on birth
In the midst of our stupidities
Something wondrous strives

                                    By Phil Roberts

I'm still learning how to fill my body.
Let alone the universe
What kind of space do I take up?
Not enough.
The answer is always "not enough".
On the couch I curl my body
Until I'm camouflage.
I sleep alone on my bed
Leaving room for entire cities
I walk down busy streets
Dodging bodies and buildings
Like I might ignite them.
My voice is a cracked window
Down the street from my soul.
In bright rooms
I dance in shades of black and white
With feet that don't quite fill my shoes.
Yet my poems use the reddest colors of the solar system
On pages too small for my pen