Only an angel can know there's love to find behind closed doors
In time you'll know when you're ready for more
Though you have not a lot to say, let me roll the
stone away
Through you I am saved...
Thank the good Lord
For those godawful things
That brought you to me

It's midnight soon
So I'm off to bed to read
May all of your dreams
Make you smile in your sleep

                                    By Phil Roberts

The Sun warms us in her embrace
Then tucks us in with a blanket of stars
And leaves us with the romanticized Moon
But she always returns
Kissing us awake with her beams of love

Silver and Gold will lose their luster. Jewels will not sparkle forever. Treasures can be stolen or tarnished by the passage of time. Life long memories on the other hand cannot be taken by a thief, nor can time erase the impact of love given to create them. The smallest acts of kindness and caring with family, is often the most precious thing. It is a treasure that cannot be given a value. It is part of who you are and what you pass on in life.

It's no easy thing for me
to look back upon
the reasons that I
turned my
back upon
a life
fuelled by heat
and the seasons
that
beat me down to
the floor
and
any more
than I
could
remember then
is lost in the recording of
way back when
the night was a penlight
that wrote
on the starlight

how tight these ancient
memories
hold into me,
how cold when I hold
on
the old, but I have the key

it's imagining then
when I go back
and when,
it's so hard for me
to turn away again,
like a screen on the screams
that revolve
in my dreams,
recording though it seems
that the tape has run
through the
echoes of what
was ever said
never done,
it's not easy for me
to look back upon.

I see artistry in the way these branches bend and twirl.
The abundant bough goes naked.
I see there is artistry here.

I have spent much time
on daydreaming,
I forgot things
I should have written,
words I supposed to pen
in the blank space,
are now gone —
gone as the night sleeps.

Becoming unknown,
from those fantasies I built,
the heart speaks —
when lips unvoiced by guilt,
for those lovely words
were now forgotten by time,
forgotten by my mind,
forgotten by the night.