I am satisfied
In Your love lovable Lord!
Source; Satisfaction

I was a fish. it wasn’t enough.

–

we’re the founders
of absence. off the clock

–

like newborns

You are!
The source of
Pleasure and calmness!
I recall You!
In deep city noises
I request You!
In deep dark nights
I talk with You!
In a solitude
I smell You!
Everywhere
When I wander about
I have You!
When I need You, Lord!
You are the answer!
Of unseen questions
You are the solution!
Of upcoming problems
O! my Lord!
You are!
The source of
Pleasure and calmness
For the heart
That recalls You!
With and within heartbeats.

I have a sleeping giant in my heart
Did you know?
It slumbers in its chains

You are with me Lord!
Universe is seeking You!
I need not at all

I've donated world
For the sake of my Lord's smile
Else nothing worthwhile

There's room for your every
Blade between my ribs.
I have a thousand other
Cheeks to turn when

You need to fling
Frustration from the channels
Of your heart's palms.
I can take all your punches.

I am a statue to your weathers.
I am the sound of handfulls of
Dirt and pebbles against an empty
Casket. I can take out my every

Nerve, my heart, my pain centre
And place it in a pocket; take it
All back out when you need to
Dillute your tears with mine

Over some matter that weighs
Heavy on the hearts of little
Girls playing with big boys; falling
From swings designed for

Denser bones and hands rough
From climbing. I am the teddy
Bear missing an eye and a limb,
Exposing stuffing through seams

Torn from being dragged over
Stairs and through sandboxes,
Always a thump behind little legs
That carry love for it, unequal to

Any.

There's a quiet murmuration
Of figments of my imagination
Dreams and broken notions
Feelings and emotions
Swirling and rearranging
Into ever-changing shapes in my mind

There are absent gods and howling dogs
And the broken backs of the poor
While jugglers perform tricks with wealth
As nobody seems to care anymore
Amidst marching boots as children shoot
And hope lies dead on the floor

There seems to be a ghost somewhere
Wandering high in purple mountains
And low in deep green valleys
And this roaming soul may well be
A kind of long lost truth
Inside my hidden mind

                               By Phil Roberts