I came back to the poem with more ideas,
Trying to wake up the unsuspecting reader
To walk with them though my stories
I didn’t want them to think I was rapping
nor was I singing the blues

Poetry is no longer frightening
Like a sudden force of lightening;
Awakening your senses to the art
From the start: to the fuzzy end

I dared you not to walked away from this piece
However, I beg of you to read this piece with ease
Today, I wish that the little birds on my window
Will sing to me, but instead the cold morning breeze
kept them away:
An exciting dimension of their songs makes my day
Comes alive:

In my lucid dream last night, I saw beach goers
Watching the tides go in and out:
way down the harbor road
Their soak their feet in a stream
of warm running water

So I took a seat and I joined the relaxing crowd
Dreams are scarier, more than poetry.

Sadness flies on the wings of the morning and out
of the heart of darkness comes the light. ~Jean Giraudoux

I came back to this poem with a sense of knowing, that a

*Poet can survive everything but a misprint Oscar -Wilder

“I put my heart and soul into my work,
and have lost my mind in the process.”

                                         Taunted and tormented
                                         Voices in his mind
                                         Dreams filled with anguish
                                         Love he couldn’t find

“Art is to console those who are broken by life.”

                          His heart, his soul
                          crushed by deep despair
                          struggling to breathe
                          weight he couldn’t bear

“One can speak poetry by arranging colors well.”

                                           Swirls of cobalt
                                           splash of emerald green
                                           flashes of deep carmine
                                           saffron flares between

“The night is more alive, more richly colored than the day.”

                        Nights beneath his brush
                        became life’s multicolored page
                                        his words and wisdom were
                        far beyond his age.

“The more I think it over the more I feel there is
nothing more truly artistic than to love people.”  

                                       Love was not a certainty
                                       but stars could make him dream
                                       greatness escaped his grasp
                                       his work remained unseen.

“A great fire burns within me, but no one stops
to warm themselves at it.  Passersby see only a wisp of smoke.”

                                         Had he not ended his life,
                                         would his praises have been sung?
                                         If you die so early
                                        are you forever young?

I’ve chosen to walk
A lonely road
Where ravens squawk
As time erodes
Where the devil talks
Through whispered codes

I walk along
A dark wooded path
Where the nights are long
And I face Satan's wraith
Everything feels wrong
There's no turning back

The more I wander
The more I stray
More time to squander
The days away
So much time to ponder
The end of days

Darkness is falling
The Earth is dying
The Devil's calling
The news is lying
It's all so appalling
There's no denying

This path I roam
Is filled with sorrows
Nowhere feels home
Too many tomorrows
Too Many poems
Spreading my woes

The Devil follows
He tempts my soul
But my soul is hollow
So still I stroll
This pain I swallow
And it takes its toll

I can not save
This doomed planet
We've dug our grave
Satan's enchantment
Has made us slaves
Bloodshed is rampant

And when we crumble
I'll shed no tears
The devil mumbles
In our ears
So we stumble
Year after year
As the end draws near

vesparations
a word I just created
seems to be in desperation
not finding a synonym
in my google thesaurus so I invented
it
a combinating  psuedonym
a conjagulations freebiddanence
a twelve lettered
sort of word
that suits my aim right now
to a tee
or is that t?
or tea?
**** inventing words
is frustrating...

There are undoubtedly star crossed lovers
And sometimes, universes collide

                                               By Phil Roberts

you mustn't be so impatient my child
our time will come
you know the numbers are limited
we will be leaving soon
I promise you
and the adventure that awaits us
will be beyond our imagination
we will be kings
and they will love us
because we are what they strive to be
but it cannot be rushed
we must move slowly
they will not even realize that we have saved them
and in a thousand years
it will be all ours
as their species fades to relics
now come inside after the earth sets
and just remember
we shall be there
before the next eclipse

Vile = Veil = Evil = Levi = Live
Lust = ****
Hate = Heat
God = Dog
Art = Rat = Tar
Slow = Owls = Lows
Life = File
Blue = ****
Fire = Rife
Psalm =Palms
Words = Sword
Ram = Arm
Stone = Notes
Time = Emit = Mite
One = Neo
Seven = Evens
Raw = War
Salt = Last
Door = Odor
Read = Dear = Dare
Snake = Sneak
Star = Arts = Rats
Ear = Are = Era
Leap = Plea
Low = Owl
Heart = Earth = Retha
No = On
Hatred = Red Hat
Dad = Add
Robe = Orbe
Verse = Serve = Sever
Dan = And
Cool = Loco
Mary = Army
Baby = Abby
Stain = Saint
Name = Mean
Tea = Eat = Ate
Male = Lame
Car = Arc
How = Who
Meat = Team = Mate = Tame
Stare = Tears
Teacher = Cheater
What = Thaw
Part = Trap
State = Taste
Scared =sacred
Written by Keith Edward Baucum

They don't see me
But you look so closely

And they don't hear me
While you, listen well

Its loud here
One can never tell

But you do
In your silence

Pity, pity
Me

How I need you here
I'm wingless

Fairy gone cold
Malecifant

And I care not
My wings don't sparkle

They are No more
Chopped

A loved one
Passed

And I walk
Amongst those with wings

With a one TRACK
mind, vast determination and a CRESCENT
smile, she set out to DRIVE
a ROUTE
that she hoped would BYPASS
the pitfalls of the low ROAD,
and carry her to a HIGHWAY
that would lead to AVENUES
of success in her search for Primrose LANE,
the BOULEVARD
of dreams and easy STREET.

She paused to MEWS
on her plans and decided that she’d WALK
the CIRCLE
forest PATH
around the public GARDENS
at the bottom of the CUL DE SAC,
but the TRAIL
through the GROVE
was muddy and the gate was about to CLOSE,
so she thought it best to hit the ROAD
and be on her WAY
before she ended up in COURT
asking the judge to OVERLOOK
her trespass in the PARK
          ljm