12 o'clock
never seems to stop
I threw a rock
at the grandfather clock
but the tick tock
doesn't stop

Just don't look at me like that.
Don't let it change the fact. Friends first-
and now always.

It's not funny how the words i wanted to say
dried up, with your eyes screaming.
"Stop it, there's no winning"

Why do we bottle it up in our mind? Ladies and Gentlemen.
Exhibit A: Rejection-painful, but not unkind.

I can't honestly say
I know how things
should be
I could lie
But you know me
Just well enough
To see through that
but for comforts sake
We could pretend.

Nothing's changed.
'cept that smile. Now, leave's a weird taste,
of one part pity, two parts haste.
Sorry for subjugating you to this foolishness.
Guess saying "no" was for the best.

You took my empty dreams
And filled them every one
With tenderness and nobleness,
April and the sun.

The old empty dreams
Where my thoughts would throng
Are far too full of happiness
To even hold a song.

Oh, the empty dreams were dim
And the empty dreams were wide,
They were sweet and shadowy houses
Where my thoughts could hide.

But you took my dreams away
And you made them all come true—
My thoughts have no place now to play,
And nothing now to do.

When the sun and the moon
Collide in the sky
When blood drops,
Are the only tears I cry
When snow flakes
Fall in the middle of June
When the sound of silence
Remains the only tune
When the fish sprout wings
And fly from the sea
When the only thing standing
Are petrified trees
When the sky loses its color
And is no longer blue
That, my sweet, is when
I'll stop loving you

That's me in the middle
In the middle of the world
Just as everyone else
Is in the centre of their's
And we'll never meet
Or even live in the same climate
A thousand miles to west or east
And yet
By the grace of various miracles
Your words may move me
And hopefully, mine will move you
To defy distance and differences

                                                    By Phil Roberts

She wondered what it would feel like
To escape the rigid boundaries of words
And speak in the fluid language of art

The chemical pull of the pen was exciting
But the blissful sensation of the brush
May give way to time losing its meaning

Her love of art came from her childhood
Story books when opened meant she
Could fall inside the wonderful illustrations

Years of life and years of passion spent inside
Black and white sketches and drawings
Magical incredible frightening and amazing

She feels the silence between poetry and art
She feels them expand and soften until it seems
Like a giant bubble that holds them both