She says she is lesbian
I fix a cup of Oolong tea
I just needed someone to talk to
She is looking straight through me
She says her heart is broken
I see the pieces all around
I just can't be alone now
Your the only one I've found

So the night made up a midnight
And the music made up songs
And she built up her castles
Before they came tumbling down
And she looked just like an angel
One without her feathered wings
And I wanted to kiss her
But she collected only Queens

The night turned into daylight
She said she had to go
But she wanted to thank me
Most people would've said no
And then she hugged me
like a big brother to me you are
Then in another second
She was driving off in her car

And she looked just like an angel
One without her feathered wings
Still she flew on without me
An angel without any rings
And my heart was breaking
Fool you can't be this way I say
Still she was an angel
Without a halo to display

loneliness has defined
this old soul.
Bittersweet melody
has tuned my way of
living.

I don't know how much
my heart could stand
the weight and wait
for that simple moment,
that single spark
to feel alive
and stop breathing
the ashen smog of reality.

There are times in my life
When all I want to do
Is to disappear
No plans
No questions
And no recriminations
Just disappearance
To nowhere

                            By Phil Roberts

We meet again;
No thunder, lightning,
Nor no rain,
But awkward,
Just the same...

Conversation turning dour,
Work complaints
Almost an hour...

Birthday wishes?

Realize a party's
Not for sighs,
Not for damning
Others' eyes,
Not a time to criticize,
Nor office lies,
Nor padding chubby thighs.

Times like this,
I realize,
It's office parties
I despise,
And pine away
For open skies.

Awkward.

i want to be the reason there is light inside your eyes again. the reason you worship the sunrise, instead of clinging red knuckled to the end of each dying day.

I always seem to have needed lots of time
To stare......at nothing
I went through my entire education
Staring through windows
At nothing much
Indeed, the essence of a good stare,
Is not to focus on anything
But to find that comfortable place
Where thoughts can wander
To find nourishing places to dwell
Where poetry is born

                                     By Phil Roberts