You say you know me
Better than I know myself
You judge me cause you think it is easy
It is bever easy to walk in my shoes
It is not the thing that I wanted to choose
You think of me so little
Yet I am full of news
I am a riddle that you can never solve
Step into my body and figure out how my cells beat
Figure out how every brain cell speaks
Show me what my eyes can see
And what my limbs seek
Don't think I am weak
I show compasion because i have reached the peek
When you slap me I turn the other cheek
I am born to love
Not to push and shove
Respect who I am and don't throw me under the bus
My heart is whiter than a feather of a dove
Respect my humanity that is a gift from above
My brother what you see is not the image that it appears to be
The real image is hidden in a mist that the other will not reveal to me
So don't look at him and you think you have figuered out the key
You will need to be closer to him to understand what is he
He might be somone who you never thought he could be
He might be the devil hidding in an angels rougue
And pulls out his sowrd
And stab you in the heart
And as you fall down and bleed in pain
You will understand that judging people is a shame
The mirror reflects the human that we see
But doest it reflect the bones and muscles lying inside of me
We are humans and thats the easiet we could be
But we got to evolve to be the best that people thought we can only be

this echo will only confuse
put your fingers in your ears
yell or hum
try to think of baseball games
concentrate on geometric figures
recall sunny days
picnics in the park
rev that hemi engine
neigh like a stallion
turn Led up
smoke a blunt
snort something
position yourself with a concrete wall
between us
think of gramma
whatever it takes
to not hear
or face it
write a poem
a novel
read the dictionary
just close it off
it won't do anything
but make one think
and that is painful

if i die,
I want to be content,
Solemn
and atleast happy
not
lonely

Beyond the rolling bones
Of memory's myths
And the ancient sounds of laughter and tears
Something mystical exists
Something deeper than marrow
The seeds of our ancestor's dreams and fears
And at a level beyond our knowing
It still rules our actions
And leads us to our fates

                                             By Phil Roberts

In the shadow of these city life
your shine gets dimmer
and your beauty seems duller.

In the midst of these city lights
your nothing but a shadow who
follows
the mundane rules
neglecting you dream
to create.

Some nights
the moon throws its light
like an old man
who can't hold his liquor in
and spits blood in the morning

Someone ought to kick some sense
into me, if they did I'd hum
like the body of a fiddle

I propose we all strip down
and take a swim with my friends
the dragonflies, but no one will listen
to what I have to say when I throw my voice
like an empty bottle deep in the forest

When I think of all the dark
and swift things of my rivers,
I wonder why time the old boot -
legger hides his maps and goes
on traveling the low roads

Alone I can tell you there is so much
beside the point of the thorn of the rose
and why the moon is with me always
whenever i choose to go it alone

I drink from that blue jar of time
and breathe the breath of sweet infants

Believe you me the dead shepherd
we sent up the river in a faraway land
in a time so long ago still holds us
all by the holes in his hands

You can see the dark clouds up ahead,
my cloisters I am always walking through them
with you children of the lost dreams,
and with you fifty-something snow-headed men

We have just collided with our lost sons
on the high road of morning, we are rising
dust like the dirt on our children's graves
saying nothing to our brothers the stones.

Back into the car
I watch you walk away
A few minutes pass
My niece is crying.

I think inside I am too,
I already miss you.

day one: you asked me if i was okay as i tried to hide the tears that were spilling down my face. i looked at you and my heart stopped right there and whispered, "hello old friend, I've been waiting for you"

day two: i woke up to a good morning text. i knew this was the beginning.

day three: we threw rocks in the river and you laughed as i slipped off my shoes in the dark and waded into the ice cold water. i told you how it made me feel alive to have it biting at my skin

day four: you told me it was a bad idea, that we weren't allowed to do this as your kisses led there way from the nape of my neck to the horizon of my lips

day five: i realized how beautiful you were when you spoke about the things you loved, how your smile threatened to consume your whole face.  but i also realized how beautiful you looked when you talked about the things that hurt, the things that you would never forget no matter how hard you tried

day six: i thought i would know you forever, in whatever sense that meant, i thought you would stick around. i realized how delusional this sounded after six days of knowing you. but you said you would stay.

day seven: the urge took over and i gave it all to you. every secret my body held, the words spilling off my tongue and into the space between us like a waterfall. like i said the urge took over and i gave it all to you.

day eight: you didn't value me enough to even whisper an explanation.

day nine: we were a story cut off mid sentence. with no happily ever af....

I saw your face in a crowded place
The rest were just shadows and a blur

Your head carried high
Your wandering eyes
Strangers lips no longer smile
But when I look closely yours were

**DRAFT

I'm that record player that keeps going on,
Playing the same old, outdated song.
I'm sorry.
All my poems spout the same cliches now.
Hell, I'm the embodiment of those cliches now.
I don't know why I'm suffering from the disease
Years after my exposure to patient(s) zero,
But here I am, sick, bed-ridden and sleep-deprived,
Scratching sores I thought had long healed up.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry that I don't see colour anymore,
Just the monochromatic shading of decay.
I don't know how to pull myself back up again,
Can't remember how I did it the first time.
I was a ticking time bomb without even realising it,
And I don't even know if I've exploded yet,
Or if this is just the precursor, the countdown
To ripping apart everyone in my vicinity.
I'm sorry.
They say pain makes for the best artists, the best art,
But I'm too repetitive to make anything good.
Even the violent strokes of red have turned dark grey,
And they get darker the further down the abyss I go,
Where the darkness is so dense that light can't penetrate,
And I don't see the nightmares that have come back.
I'm sorry.