Protected by a suit of dreams
And armed with a smile
He came out of nowhere
And went his own way

Seemingly believing nothing
And walking in no-one else's footsteps
He follows no rules without reasons
But he knows right from wrong
And he knows that's what matters

In a world of easy hypocrisy
Where compassion is stifled by fear
And belief is a reason to hate
To hate and destroy other beliefs
He goes his own way

                              By Phil Roberts

It is easy enough
to wish all the world would love us,
to strain for fame,
to claim a name
synonymous with success
living life at its best.
It is great for the rest
but for me I’d prefer to be
true to myself even though
I don't know exactly who he is.

it started out innocently enough
herb gardens
and vegetable gardens
interspersed throughout the fort
in various stages of disarray

I started putting them into shape
one by one
pull a few weeds
put the toothache back
pull a few more
plant some feverfew
catmint and chamomile
and several other herbs later

and I find myself
compelled to pull weeds
wherever I am

maybe I need a multi-step program

co-worker started to holler across the way
about my **** addiction,
but heard it in her head
before it came out loud

but I really do think
I need help

Many have come to pry me open.
Many have come asking for the key.
Offering promises that the doubt would lessen,
flaunting their oaths as currency.

Plenty have assured that they're not like the others.
They promised that their words were forged in steel.
They had come with nothing else except to offer,
their ears and support just so to seal the deal.

"Forgive me", I'd say... I am still a tad apprehensive.
But I do feel the need to speak...
I do long for ears attentive,
Not the ones which are attached to mouths that easily leak.

I know that there are such ears...
Hard to find but they're definitely there.
They'd be ready to catch my tears,
more than willing to show concern and care...

Yours seem rather reliable... That much I see.
They've come with intentions seemingly untainted and kind.
Don't suppose they'd take my words ever so lightly.
They won't lap up my secrets with treachery in mind.

Again I find myself here at the same spot.
About to hand over the duplicate key.
This familiar leap I hope you'd have me caught.
Please don't give away my secrets for free...

A field of dandelions
One hundred weeds
Or one thousand wishes
Your choice

Tossed and turned
Behind me was
My own
Shadow-
Opening
The window
I jumped
To stretch my
Appendages
I saw the world
This morning from
A higher cliff.
I touched the stars,
It's dust caressed my
Lips-

Plastic bottles
Of cheap *****
Ceremoniously laid
On top the dirt

Faded red deterioration
Decorating human sin
The plastic as much
A human construct
As the forces driving those
To drink the poison within

Our kind is found among
The freshly fallen leaves,
Blanketing decomposition,
Suspended in between what
Is known of a detached life
Gracefully succumbing to nature

Our character is in the mulch,
It is in the metamorphosis

Our hopes and fears hidden
Within the actions that define us

Scattered about the ground
In the honor of days now drowned
In fermented angst

Plastic human sin
Cheap ceremony
These are the things
We choose to be

But we are so much more

It's a good thing to believe in magic
Then your wishes can come true
When life is easy and each day new
Magic just adores to surprise you

It's a good thing to believe in love
To be certain your on your way
Nurture and care every single day
Love simply loves to shine her ray

It's a good thing to believe in peace
No need to ever war and fight
Watching over humanity with light
Peace will always help us to do right

my son is a better version of me

i easily break
he rides storms smilingly

i crumble in a crisis
he handles stoically

my emotions play loud on face
he hides it handsomely

i'm doubtful of exploring
he ventures courageously

i speculate on life too much
he bothers not seriously

grounded, delusionally,
I can fly occasionally,
like a mythical horse with wings,
when I set my mind to these things

Suppose
life is an old man.
He's the type to thank
all the gods he knows
when his eyes first open
for the gift of another day.
Shrugs on his robe
and pads into slippers
without waking anyone
and starts the coffee.
Showers, dresses,
heads to the park
for his walk with the birds,
who flock and coo and chirp
for the crumbs of stale bread
he carries.
He has a lovely porch,
where he rests
in the afternoon
and after dinner.
He watches the neighbors
bustle and unwind.
You're always welcome
to join him in
the other rocker
and talk of whatever
the gentle breeze
blows into your mind.

Listen to him well.

The old man has learned
the small joys and adventures
fill our days
and are miraculous.