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If you walk with a purpose
Your feet will never tire


-Hadrian Veska
Edges of shadows
In the corners of eyes
Too fast to see

Is it true
What you see
Is it me
Is it real
You do not hear my voice
Or know the colour of my eyes
You would not know me in the street

And yet
You have seen my soul in words
Those who care to look
Can know my story
My frailties
My vulnerabilities

The curse and the gift
Of poetry


                                By Phil Robrts
 May 2016 James Walker
Stephan
.

*His words,
once a celebration of love,
poetic affection,
written from the deepest
part of his heart
for her,

are now
nothing more than
creased and torn
pages of empty verses
shoved in the back pocket
of his worn out jeans

Ink bleeding between
the lines of a man
who believed he mattered,
only to find that he is
as insignificant
as his writings,

a forgotten poet,
a dried up pen in hand,
scratching sad poetry
on a lonely sidewalk
between the cracks of his life,
etchings of who he once was
There is a day when dreams are
Exiled, left to waste away --
The dry sands of tomorrow.
Magnificent dreams,
Too daring, ambitious, demanding,
Cast aside, in hopes that they’ll
Flourish on their own.
We’ll dream once more…
Tomorrow

There is a day when opportunities
Are swallowed by the tides,
And sink to fathomless trenches
Never to be seen again,
For there might be another one…
Tomorrow.

There is a day when unspoken words
With the potential to change a life sit
In one’s tongue, embittering over time,
Since someone else will speak them…
Tomorrow.

There is a day when the Earth will perish
By exploitive and negligent hands.
We were all aware of what was to come,
So let us amend our ways...
Tomorrow.

Somethings simply just cannot wait.
Perhaps tomorrow is a day too late.
 May 2016 James Walker
martin
flower in her hair
her body she shares with you
hold her she blossoms
Cry
Another
Noisy
Tear
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