I am not a poet,
Or any wise man of the sort.
I am just a child in love,
Lost within words.

Your voice is calling out to us,
it is the voice of the sea.
Let me drown like you, my friend,
they'll never be able to **** me.

Let us sing of foam and ashes,
let us shout and cry,
for we will never stop, we fools,
to loudly, proudly testify.

Let us shout the names
of all who refused to lie,
with all the breath we have,
with every wave, high, up, high!

We are a version that is dictated
by ourselves, not others dictations.
We write the verses of our own lives,
scripting every contemplation of decisions.
  
Never rely on the words of others to
push you where you want, need to be.
No one is throwing pennies into the bowl
of pity, only you can rise above your failings.

But you reach with each moment, sweat and
reflections of when you fell down picking
yourself up. Higher than when you collected
back to reality, and believe when you rise above.

"We may get knocked down, but only we
can raise above where we fell,

*"Be brighter than the shadows others put upon you,

I felt this primal urge
This trance-like instinct
To set things right
In case I have to leave
Move on, so to speak

So
I took my jaundiced eye
And rolled it from corner to corner
Of this, my situation
And I felt so very small and hard
Lost in largeness
For cynicism is a tight thing
Which allows little movement
A strange kind of chastity

And then, you see
Changes
Honesty demanded that I see more
Grow, so to speak

And oh, my poor sore eyes
See how the children starve
All over this bitter world
This bitter, sickened world
And cynicism did this
Through the slack hands of millions
Who still refuse to believe
That things can be changed

                                    By Phil Roberts

departure
                arrival
the climber
                 the diver
     the heat
                 the chills
     the beat
                 the thrill
         depth
                 moisture
        height
                 closure

... would you then still stay?


10W
SøułSurvivør
7/30/2017

-:-

I can't hear the sound
For the beating of drums
It is finished
Before it's begun...

My mind is rattling
But my muse hums!


SøułSurvivør
(C) 7/30/2017