A simple gesture
Touched my heart
Now I wonder
If being apart
Means I'm not for you
And you are not for me

But I hope and I pray
One day
You'll be by my side
Through high and low tides
To love undyingly.

What good does
a Tuesday do?
to man or beast
I wish I knew.

Ignorance may be
the stepping stone
that gets me home
safe and sound.

The day starts dark and
gets darker still,
someone should make
a lightness pill,
bright idea
number one.

Anyway,
I get up
for a cup
of hot sweet
tea
and see
Tuesday
looking in on
me.

There's a story on my lips--
Unwarranted, can't let it slip.
On my pen I'll cling, I'll grip;
Bleed my heart through fingertips.

Ink stained page, a wounded soul;
Fine point to slay my self control.
Carnage I could never show
To those I have come to know.

This is a side meant only for
Fellow soldiers out at war.
Faceless under armor worn--
But words we jab revealing more.

...and so I slip him a quid
just to get rid of him,
him being beggar boy
on the richest street in Christendom,
but it's not him I'm rid of and it is I
who's the beggar,
poorer for all of my
wealth.

On cloudless moonlit nights
When the world is silver and darkest blue
And silence seems to reign supreme
If you stretch your hearing inwards
You will hear the distant moans
Of long lost lonely dreams
Homeless and obsolete
Fading away
To become endless shadows

                                           By Phil Roberts

they    were      not      
     someone      you  
could        lust    over,  
they    were     fey,      
blood       not    running
   the     usual     way,  
they     made     me      
   dream    of    streams  
touched    by  moon
beams,    ice     cold    
  fields  at       dawn,      
every     season    I      
have    ever      known
breathing      within
    their     bones;    
dark      woods      were  
organs   once     stood;    
    each      touch    a    
   crunch      underfoot      
revealing   another        
layer  so       deep,      you    
doubt   you     will 
   ever      reach     the    
heart       of      its    beat.

Down in the crypt where humanity's stripped
there's a smell of decay in the air, where
they wash as they will
or just have a quick swill and
I really
don't want to be there.