My words and my poems
Are no more than explanations
And embellishments
My means of expression
For my life is my "art"
It's what I am and what I write
It's why I need to write
To make sense of the things
I've seen and done
And there are times when
I think I've done far too much
Then, in deep contemplation
I realise I could have done more
And that kind of inner debate
And discussion with myself
Are a large part of my life
Which becomes my version
Of something like "art"

                                         By Phil Roberts

I want to talk to you so bad
So so badly
But I can't

I want you to hold me
Tell me everything is going to be okay
But you won't

How come I think of you
When times are dark and blue?
You'd surely know what to do

I would hold your hand until the storm in my head calms down
And we would smile and know that nothing can destroy us
But we won't
And we never will