You stumble barefoot
Across thorns
Towards broken glass
Everyday
You fight against the tide
The tide of the tears you've cried
Never going down
Refusing to drown
And all that I can do
Is send my words  to you

                                            By Phil Roberts

I am unsure of the nature of my insanity.
I don't know whether I shall overcome this,
or watch my life come crashing down around me.
I don't know where this path will lead.
It winds and it turns and it goes over mountains
and through valleys and even further
down
into caves and I am lost.
I am so utterly lost and beyond rescue.

I hear voices.
The say they want to save me.
They say they care.
I believe them sometimes, but come nightfall
all is lost.
I have never been so shaken, so scared.
I cannot describe this aloneness, this
simple singularity.
I know there are those that would take my madness.
They stand by me, but
I am blind.
I could hear them, but
I am deaf.
I can touch them, but
I am not convinced of reality.

I cannot accept that my life may end in ruin, but
will I really have a choice?
Will my mind just take over my mind and
destroy all I hold dear?
I don't know.

I just don't know.

So, you reading this, remember me please.
As I am now while I haven't been consumed by darkness.
Take these words and savor them.
This is me.
I am not yet insane.



One day I might be.

a cold winter blast
two songbirds boldly took flight
eloquent silence

"Don't look down" they say
But I need to see where to put my feet
Because there's only the ground beneath me

I have built no mountain of achievement
Nor scaled any great heights in life
I sure as hell never made any money
And I've had my share of strife

So I've got my feet firmly on the ground
Because there's nothing else beneath them
That doesn't mean my judgement's sound
It just means that I don't give a ****

                                                         By Phil Roberts

Shhhh
Can't you just listen
Please for once
I know God gave you ears
I know you can hear
but it is so much *more than that
Please just *listen
To the sound of my voice
Take in the words
that I am saying


No
Uh uhhh
Stop right there
Can't you see I am hurting
Do you not see the pain
You do not have to fix me
Sometimes you just cannot
Please just hold my hand
Hug me
*Hurt with me

We all are refugees
temporarily sheltered
on the road, homeless.

She had just finish smoking the ****,
Then she decided to write a poem about smoking the joint
Or was it before she wrote the poem, or after she smoke the ****
Was the poem triggered by the ****, or did the **** triggered a write?
Does it matter now, after she rolled the **** into written words and smoke her ideas.
  

Al Cash once wrote that
*My soul absorbs you, my mind inhales your essence, and you confirm my life.” *
She usually took an aspirin after a terrible headache
But thinking out loud now she should have taken the aspirin before the headache
Or before she smoke the ****, that lead to the write
That eventually brought about the poem, which causes a migraine
Now her body reacts to the Drunken Sailor Syndrome
So once again never swallow a spider to **** a fly: just purge.

Never write a poem while smoking the ****,
Poetry is life natural high, an untimely wave that never
Cease to amaze us.

words
weaving us together
strangers turned friends
unity in silence