Living under a bridge, cold and need of a bath. Once a sergeant in an elite command, now invisible to the masses. Sitting on a park bench wrapped in a shawl, feeding pigeons bread crumbs because she has no place to go. Lying in a jail cell, barley the age of 18. Look at grey walls of a future that seems so bleak. All of the forgotten and ignored of everyday life. Those for whom no one cares, as we go about our daily lives. Thrown away people, who want to live and be loved. It makes you wonder how we will be judged by God above?

The rose wept
bitter tears
                        when the thorn
pricked hard
the eager fingers
that plucked her
from the bush,
She imagined it was
her lover's.
                  Most upset
                  she kissed
                           oozing
                                    drops
                ­                        of blood
                                                  dry,
and wept,
not realizing
the thorn's anger
was directed
to the  irresponsible
aggressor, who has
only selfish motives.
The thorn meant to protect her,
while trying in vein to hold back his
tears that, for others looked like
                                                   dew
                                                      drops
    ­                                                    gleaming
    ­                                                             in pain.


Once snatched from the lap of the bush
she  hardly would last a day or two,
then  would be left to rot
                                         turn to dust
                                                 and vanish
                                                     in a rowdy wind.

Day and night are  just opposites,
yet complementary ad infinitum,
sans any trace of discord, perfectly fit;
everything one comes across in life
is uniquely meaningful, let's not forget.

I wish u were as warm
As the sun
With ur smile and hugs
Then leave me a mark
Upon my face

You can call me hapless,
Hopeless and feckless
All true
You can say I'm irresponsible
disrespectful and disreputable
Fair enough

But don't call me a liar
Not because I'm St Phil  of the Truth
Or because I crave purity and integrity
It's because I'm too ****** lazy
To remember what I've said
So if you think I've lied
You've read what wasn't written
You may have seen what you expected to see
And read words you thought I'd write
But it was not lies
Believe me

                        By Phil Robert

Warm rain mimics the taste of the Mediterranean upon reticent lips ,
a river of salt streams from her hairline , running freely along her timeless , glowing expression . Wild honey pooling at the base of my Aphrodite's bare , delicate neck .. The tender , moist fixation at the confluence
of our timid breath , her sweet face held in careful hands , brown sugar eyes and cinnamon tresses , new Sunlight upon glowing , china envious articulations ..