Lay back in the afternoon sun
Next door's tired child cries half-heartedly
Having worn herself out in the heat
Mother makes soothing noises
As she takes her indoors
And I'm just soaking up the rays
My skin getting darker
And my hair going whiter
I am at peace with my piece of world
Listening to sparrows chattering
And a blackbird serenades
From the top of a nearby tree
As my dog diligently patrols the garden
My eyes closed against the sun
I drift to other places

                                      Phil Roberts

Edges of shadows
In the corners of eyes
Too fast to see
It might be me

Is it true
What you see?
Is it real?
Is it really me?

You do not hear my voice
Or know the colour of my eyes
You would not know me in the street
Or recognise my accent
Should we meet

And yet
You have seen my soul
In the words I write
And even the spaces between them

Those who care to look
Can know my story
My frailties
My vulnerabilities
My reality

This may be my curse
And my gift to you
Whatever it may be
You know that it is true

                                   By Phil Roberts

A face stares into a mirror
Where the face dissolves into a picture
Of a blazing desert
Where the snow falls
And fishes writhe in the sand
And the broken moon glows
At mid-day
Then somewhere nearby
Coffin wood cracks
Disturbing the church
Of a damaged mind
As frailty shatters
And reality splatters
And brain cogs grind
For the mirror has become
The window on the lost

                                 By Phil Roberts

The priest puts his trust
In martyrs and miracles
Clutching his rosary and his celibacy
To his bursting breast
And humanity walks
Through a series of cages
Every day

The ***** puts her trust
In bordellos and bodies
Clutching her money and her condoms
To her brassy breast
And humanity walks
Through a series of cages
Every day

The lawyer puts his trust
In regulations and rules
Clutching his charters and his decrees
To his dusty breast
And humanity walks
Through a series of cages
Every day

We each put our trust
In roles and rituals
Clutching convention and convenience
To our timid *******
So humanity continues to walk
Through a series of self-made cages
Every day

                 By Phil Roberts

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

A mind can burn
So white hot
That it bleaches the senses
And dislocates the soul
Did you know that?

And sleep can be terrifying
Because of haunting dreams
Dreams of huge steel wheels
With vicious toothed cogs
All waiting to catch and crush
As the dreamer slips and falls

Reality etches with acid
Ignoring hopes and plans
And the innocent shall scream
As the guilty creep away
Food turns to maggots
And drink turns to ****
And this is the intensity
Of madness

                             By Phil Roberts

Tripping over words of trust
Crawling backwards
Breathing dust
Mingling with the mental rust
Well, if I must
Then I must

I'll march right through the gates of hell
Me and satan
Playing show and tell
The sulphur
And the smell
Yes it smells

Yes I'll crawl through the deepest slime
However hard it is
I'll keep  on trying
But there's an end to the line
And there's a limit to my time
See,  I'm running out of time

                                  By Phil Roberts

My wild dreams still run
Through the fugitive night
And I still laugh and howl
At an unheeding moon
That forgot my name long ago

But the blood in my veins
The gypsy DNA
Can't forget the wild pulse
Or the wilder lusts
That drove me from life to death
And death to life

Stony day after deafening night
Sickening month after exhausting year
Too wired to stop
Too tired to sleep
So come and get me
Find me and hold me down
Down to earth at last

                             By Phil Roberts

We saw a light
I swear it
Something bright and crisp
And mother-clean
Or so it seemed to us
All those years ago
But we were so young then
Such noble fools
We believed
Oh, how we believed

Affection swells
And memory seduces
It is easy to love nostalgia
The children we were
Looking so new
Open-mouthed and wonderful
Delighted  and startled
Pointing yearning fingers
At the future
And there it was
And here it is
It's only a light
Really
I swear it
It's just a light

                             By Phil Roberts

Coughing like a cold start
Wheezing like a bag
Spitting through the back door
Have another ***
Doing the dying thing

Filling up an ash-tray
Feeding a fat face
Drinking cans of lager
Getting in a state
Doing the dying thing

Reading ****** papers
**** and bingo cards
Have another lager
Another pound of lard
Doing the dying thing

Sitting watching game shows
Rattling paper bags
Looking bored and farting
How the sofa sags
Doing the dying thing

Working for a *******
For very little pay
Yes boss and no boss
For eight hours a day
Doing the dying thing

Safely empty headed
Dull of thought and eye
Ignorant and vacant
There are many ways to die
Doing the dying thing

                                       By Phil Roberts

My favourite city
The easiest place in the world to make friends
Or to get in a fight
You don't need to ask what people think
They'll let you know quick enough
They have the darkest sly sense of humour
Which can become hilarious and endearing
Once you get the joke
And if you don't get it
Tough ****
The symbol of Manchester is a bee
A hardworking and peaceful creature
But if you upset the bee
God help you
The whole hive will come for you
And I love the place

                              By Phil Roberts

I've had fun on your streets
Been nursed in your hospitals
City of heart and strength
I'm proud to know you
Love ya mate

                           By Phil Roberts

Wreckage
Slow-motion blood
Aging carcass
Pain strewn
All well earned
No station missed
Time sodden gift
Rumour laden
Balancing the edge
Twisting the knife
Flashing backwards
Fun on the run
Stand and Fight
Following the way
Way of the wayward
Aimed at the graveyard
Hammered to hardness
Til nothing breaks
Still grinning

                      By Phil Roberts

All of the shining mad ones
With their heresies of reality
And other visions and other voices
Are not diminished
By the multitude of choices
That is their truth
Upon each waking day

They are woken by the howl
From beyond the first ear
And into the deeper mind
Where there is other language
And blinding colours of emotion
For madness has the purity of pain
That martyrs can only long for

                                           By Phil Roberts

I have moved to a different drum
With odd and peculiar rhythms
Dancing awkwardly through life
On my two flat clumsy feet
It is not the way I chose
To step on innocent toes
But the wildness of my dance
Has had no easy flow
The blame lies entirely with me
It's a genetic thing, you see
I am no more than this
The son of the gypsy's kiss

                                By Phil Roberts

There are sweet dreams which sometimes lead
To sadness and pain which sometimes bleed
Into a strange and eerie beauty
Causing the heart and soul to swell
Hovering between heaven and hell
And the deepest shade of blue
Rolls over the infinite truth
Of the sensitivity of being

                                       By Phil Roberts

In the night somewhere
A baby cries
And somewhere else
Lovers sigh
And as time passes
An old man dies

Somewhere out in space
A planet turns
And light years away
A star sun burns
Making us merely dust
And no-one learns

                                 By Phil Roberts

I live on the Hurdsfield Estate
To the north-east of town
Set on the edge of the countryside
And at the foot of the hills
It's idyllic in many ways
But with a character of it's own

For a start there's the H.A.T.
Which stands for
The Hurdsfield Assault Team
Which has existed for generations
With sons following fathers
They see themselves as protectors
Of the place where they live

There was one memorable instant
When two policemen entered the flats
To arrest someone several floors up
The H.A.T. boys gathered around
The unattended cop car
Whilst someone blocked the lift
They bounced and bounced that car
Until they turned it on it's roof

Now, I don't know if this is true
But it's said that Santa won't come here
Apparently, the last time he did
Before he got back up the first chimney
His sleigh was on bricks
And half the estate were eating venison
But as I said
That's just what I heard

                                   By Phil Roberts

I have eyes
But I don't see what I don't like
I have ears
But I won't hear what I don't want to hear
I have a memory
But only remember what's convenient
I have thoughts
But I keep them in safe cages
I have a mind
But I refuse to change it

And so, you see

Let rhetoric over-rule logic
Let fake news obscure truth
Let corruption replace propriety
Let bluster confound reason
Let nepotism overcome merit
Let democracy be obliterated
As long as I don't have to admit I was wrong

                                              By Phil Roberts

Death patiently files his nails
And smokes a casual cigarette
Grinning and eyeless
He says so calmly
"Catch you later
Brave little dreamer"

Despite such brittle certainty
Men and women build
Despite such small mortality
Every space is filled
In the midst of death's destruction
Men and women build again

Fear, like a cringing bowel
Exudes an acrid stench
And whimpers and whines
Simpers and cries
"Don't you dare
Don't you ever dare"

Despite this clinging dread
Some will need to dare
Despite the bursting head
Dreams insist on birth
In the midst of our stupidities
Something wondrous strives

                                    By Phil Roberts

Doom laden
Light my way
With candle of blackest tallow
And flame of brightest white
I follow my nature
My gravitation
Without question

Godless and lawless
Out of the wild I came
Still wet and trembling
Hairless and bared to all
I lived off the fruit of the land
And open to the sky
As is the way of my kind

What did I know of fences?
Or of lines on a map
All I saw was plenty for all
I knew nothing of money
I knew only being fed and being hungry
So they called me thief
They called me savage

Doom laden
Light my way
With candle dripping tallow
And flame of dimmest red
With hesitation I follow
Stumbling and lost no doubt
Yet still I follow

                              By Phil Roberts

A simple man is what I am
I went to no university
Or college of theology
And no doubt that's why I'm confused

It occurs to me, when we see
Leaders and generals of all countries and creeds
Celebrate their victories with smiling pride
Shouldn't they be weeping with shame
For all the innocents who've died?

They all believe that their god is on their side
And quite often, the same god at that
All down the ages, our venerable sages
Have killed, tortured and oppressed each other
In the name of the wishes of god

Now I'm just an ignorant sinner
So can someone please explain
What kind of god do these people believe in
That needs the destruction of his own creations
And all in his holy name?

                                                          ­­­  By Phil Roberts

In the old part of town
There are still cobbled streets
And at one time
These streets were surrounded
By living working mills
Marking the towns heartbeat
Twenty-four hours a day
Seven days a week
The machines hammered the air
As the flying shuttles were cracked
From side to side of the weft
On more than a hundred looms
It sounded like a battlefield
And some would say it was

But that was long ago
And now the mills are dead
The buildings still stand
But inside they are broken
Housing many more
Modern endeavours
And in one of these old buildings
Within the same crusty bricks
There's another world that lives
In the dark hours at least
There's a night club that throbs
To the sound of bands playing
Different rhythms for the town
And the neon lights outside
Shine on the same old cobble stones

                                        By Phil Roberts

Mr Warrington lived up the hill
He was very big and very round
With a big round wobbling face
Guiness loomed large in his legend
When he used to come home from the pub
He'd say to us cheerily
"Give us a push up th'ill kids!"
So we'd gather round
Pushing him and pulling him up the hill
Like a tiny fleet of tugs
Nudging a liner into position
"Yer good kids!" he'd say "Ere y'are!"
And he dug into his pocket for small change
He threw it on the ground and
We scrabbled merrily
With every penny a blessing

                                        By Phil Roberts

I'm in a dark place
But it's alright
I'm just resting my eyes
From the glaring light

                             By Phil Roberts

Shiny bricks and skeins of yellow grass
Barely perceptible colours
Hung with liquid haze
Dog **** and thunder
Heavy close and thick
Miasma
Clings to sweat
Running with drizzle
Clings to damp
Drowning the pores of the skin
Making collars clinging sticky
Rubbing and abrasive

In view of the towering flats
The greyly awaiting wait
Standing at the bus stop
Speaking quiet weather talk
In the distantly English way
So safely meaningless
This polite evasion
Ignores their damp dilemma
Soon, as they sit inside the bus
These bodies shall steam
Like cattle in a byre

Kids hang around the shops
Emptying and kicking cans
The younger ones
Run and shout manically
Their elders spit
And swear casually
All hoods and shadows
Asking adults to buy them lager
Because they can't get served at the "offie"
Rain changes nothing here

A bedroom guitar plays
Weakly electric
And the Turneresque sky
Swallows the sound whole and flat
Sophisticated trash
Crying into a cloudy breast
Shaded darkly round
Full and swollen
Grey and sodden
The distant rumbling
Tumbling closer to home

                                    By Phil Roberts

When I was still young and fresh
A million years ago
I walked on edges
Always on the edge of something
Something wild

Bright lights and long nights
Lots of laughter and music
Always music
Singing with the band
Dodging the flying glass
When fights broke out
Howling to the moon
Oh, wild indeed were we

All shadows now, alas
Visions from an addled brain
Pubs, clubs and smoky dumps
Leave no turn unstoned was the cry
More fun than fundamental
And fundamentally flawed, it was
A couple of hours sleep 'fore the day job
With eye-lids stuck together
And walking into walls
But still I wouldn't have swapped it
For all the strait laced straight faced
Wealth in the world

                                 By Phil Roberts

Sometimes in life
I've taken all I that could get
And at other times
I've given all that I am
And then ultimately
I was empty of everything
And full of nothing
But at least I've lived
And lived hard at that

                                By Phil Roberts

They lie warm together
In the afterglow of torrid love
Her head on his chest, he says
"Sing me to sleep, my love"
So she hums and croons
A tune he does not recognize
With soothing sounding words
In a language he does not recognize
"I love you," he murmurs as his eyes close
"I know," she says smiling
And so, as he sleeps
She lies open-eyed
Imagining a future he will not recognize

                                        By Phil Roberts

I made my way
Through the raging years
To a certain tenderness
And I've known
A grown man's tears
And the agony of emptiness

And in my time
I have done and seen
More than I could stand
But what was then
And wherever I've been
I'm just another tired man

                             By Phil Roberts

Searching low and high
Open wide of heart
Clear and bright of eye
Kicking around dusty memories
And unintelligible dreams
I've missed something
And something's missing
A precious thing has left my life
A purpose for living
A reason to carry on
A glint of meaning
And a hint of heaven
I've waited and I wait
All to no avail
My inner cynic was right all along
So set a place for me in hell
I'm ready to come home

                        
                       By Phil Roberts

Down town, small town
Sunday night hanging around
Kids on the skids
Got no dough and no place to go
All in the bus station
Putting themselves on show
Gathered in small groups
Eyeing each other up
Acting and looking just so

Then he and she locked eyes
Young lust on the cusp
Without a hint of disguise
It only took a minute or two
And these reckless kids
Knew what they were going to do
It was all upfront with nothing hid
These two had already done
More than kids shudda did

So they found a derelict house
And there the deed was done
It wasn't meant to be about love
It was just about having fun
But they decided to meet next day
Right after school was done
Back in the bus station again
Waiting for their buses home
So they sat and talked a while
And realised they got on

Soon they were "going steady"
Left their craziness behind
After all, they were old enough
They had both been around
Love bloomed for all of two weeks
Before it got him down
Having a girl friend was one thing
But he preferred nights on the town
So he told her cold as ice
Sorry babe, you gotta go

                                By Phil Roberts

Nothing drastic
Nothing pure
Noble stains
Distinct liquid drinking
Slipping and seeping
Coming calm in the world
Knowing nothing
Calling into air
Surviving
Discovery
Certain and uncertain motion
Always motion
Interior rivers pulse
Ancient wisdom
Reawakening
Slowly
Irresistably stretching
Infinitely entwined
Endlessly on

                            By Phil Roberts

She cries tears of mother's ruin
"Look at me!
It's been so hard
All of my life
And I've had to fight
For my own patch of light
Still, no-one ever looks at me"

He turns his eyes to the floor
Saying nothing
Feeling stupid
And his words burst like bubbles in his mouth
He is desperate to say something
Anything to make her happy
But he cannot turn disappointment
Back into youthful optimism
Or bitterness back to hope
As she sinks into smeary sobs
Wet and bleary loss
He takes her home

He undresses her and puts her to bed
Then he holds her as she cries
And he holds her as she sleeps
He hushes her when she stirs
And calms her when she starts and cries out
When the dreams become too real
And he shall never be more than this
Never more fulfilled
Caring for her is his only purpose
Making her happy is his holy grail
Willingly trapped within her pain
He is nothing else at all

                               By Phil Roberts

I'm off to bed to read so
Goodnight, dear friends
May all your dreams
Make you smile in your sleep

                     By Phil Roberts

It was a Thursday night
As dull as mud
And the guy I was with
Was as much fun as a broken tv
Then this bloke came into the bar
Who knew my companion
And came to join us
He said to our mutual friend,
"Eyup, Brooksy.
D'yer fancy gettin' ******?"
Brooksy sat there moaning
With a face like a slapped ****
"Nah...I'm workin' in the morniin'"
I, who was also working next day
Said, "I'll get ****** with yer."
And a lasting friendship was born

Now, my mate and me
Both needed the kind of friend
Who would calmly say
"Now hang on....that's not clever."
But instead we were both the sort
That said, "Yea, let's do it.
It'll be a laugh!"
Which led to dubious adventures
Sometimes things got dangerous
And others just plain daft
But I have to say, on the whole
It usually was a laugh

                                      By Phil Roberts

Hurtful time
Meaningless
Hanging useless
Unneeded and unwanted
Every wasted instant
Killing the man I was
Turning me into something tame
My own pale shadow
Not me

All my cherished dreams
As stale as ancient bread
All hope within me
Has turned to ghostly pale
Even my lack of belief
Seems unbelievable
Each rock that I'm made of
Crumbles into dust
Longing for the wind
Of my final storm

                            By Phil Roberts

Lost games
Longer lost rules
Night-time crimes
Lungs full
Of pungent smoke
Bellies full of *****
And heads full of
Something
And nothing

A kind of homage
To a kind of music
Riding across vinyl
And even crackling shellac
And the dead man's foot
Still taps inside the coffin
Refusing to relinquish
The hard-wired hammer
The outlaw life
Is hard in the dying

                                    By Phil Roberts

Wreckage
Slow-motion blood
Aging carcass
Pain strewn
All well earned
No station missed
Time sodden gift
Rumour laden
Balancing the edge
Twisting the knife
Flashing backwards
Fun on the run
Stand and Fight
Following the way
Way of the wayward
Aimed at the graveyard
Hammered to hardness
Til nothing breaks
Nothing matters

                      By Phil Roberts

Dark again
Darker than
Colourless sounds
From ceiling to walls
Always
Strange doors
Like gaping mouths
Dragging tears
Cracking open
Screams of silence

A day or night
Then comes the light
At long weary last
Ended future
Useless past
Nothing holds
Narrow roads
Damaged junction
There's a time
Comes the light
Follow the light

                          By Phil Roberts

See through
Tall under the sun
Crawling beneath stars
In night-time skull
Thoughts behind eyes
Behind dreams
Under darkness
And above light

See through
Pretended truths
Without words or form
Shadow shapes
Lay like death
Choreographed corpses
Meaningless memories
Damaged dreams
Piled upon writhing hopes

See through
Tender tragedy
Daily despair
Grasping at lies like air
And in the stillness of dawn
The cold of morning light
Water drips
Or maybe blood
Tapping through silence

                                     By Phil Roberts

Put the kettle on
The Dodger's here
Him and me sat chatting in the sun
As happy as gypsies leaving town
We have a lifetime between us
Over forty years of friendship
And a thousand events and people
Indelible memories
Me teaching him his first chords
Fingers stumbling on the frets
Now he plays like a dream
And he's taking the band
Into the studio next month

All down the years
It's been music and laughter
And a few daft adventures
A few rows but then
We're both fiery characters
And they were soon forgotten
In favour of a laugh or a song

And now we sit in the sun
Remembering old friends
And "Do you remember when"s
The summer of '76 was rich
Guitars in the hills
Writing songs and poetry
Happy days, old friend
Happy days indeed

                                 By Phil Roberts

There's a quiet murmuration
Of figments of my imagination
Dreams and broken notions
Feelings and emotions
Swirling and rearranging
Into ever-changing shapes in my mind

There are absent gods and howling dogs
And the broken backs of the poor
While jugglers perform tricks with wealth
As nobody seems to care anymore
Amidst marching boots as children shoot
And hope lies dead on the floor

There seems to be a ghost somewhere
Wandering high in purple mountains
And low in deep green valleys
And this roaming soul may well be
A kind of long lost truth
Inside my hidden mind

                               By Phil Roberts

Suddenly the humble
There is one eye again
Smears
Smoothly down and quick
Spaced
The silent teeth
Graveyard slabs
All scared to white
Bright full-moon night
Glaring like a naked bone
Water taps and drips
Shaped so perfectly cold
This bleakest of light
Casting long and sharp and deep
The wailing pathetic
Are silver shards of shapes
The graveyard owl screeches
This must be someone's dream

Nowhere to go
Still strong currents pull
The places of despair
Towards and away
The tonality of moods
Warming layers
Blending with the background
It's nobody's business

A sigh that trembles
Lives balancing on whims
And then a silver-grey sky
Soaring on a song
The grace of an artless child
Smiles your eyes to smiles
The crystal tumbling stream
hallucinations of diamond water
The endless beginning
Sliding on rolling moments
Changing even truth
Even truth

                By Phil Roberts

Pete and me had this mate called Charlie
He lived in Manchester
And he was a rogue
Whenever we called on him
He'd rub his hands and say
"What can I sell ya, boys?"

Once when we went and
He opened a large drawer
It was full of gold and silver rings
All types and all sizes
He opened the drawer beneath that
And it was full of ****** and vibrators
I kid you not
But this was Charlie

Another time we went he said to Pete
" I've got some leather jeans'll fit you,"
So Pete tried them on and they fit
In a way
This was in the days before stretch fabrics
And what Charlie didn't mention was
These were womens' jeans
So Pete looked at me and said
"What d'you think?"
I tried not to laugh but failed
"They look like leather jodhpurs!
"You look like an equestrian hell's angel!"

So that was Charlie
The last I heard
Bad people were looking for him
As well as the local cops
It's lucky that he was "fast" Charlie
I often wonder what happened to him
But the truth is, one way or another
He's probably dead Charlie by now

                                    By Phil Roberts

Hey, old friend
Remember the days?
The times we got so drunk we could barely crawl
What a laugh!
Other nights we'd be so wired
We chewed our lips to shreds
Way back in the day

And do you remember that opiated Nepalese
While the rest were throwing up or falling down
We kept right on smoking
'Til we could barely find our feet
Or remember our names
Haha!

And then tripping out at Fool's Nook
Thinking the water in the stream was diamonds
And chasing a butterfly that we thought was rare
The mushrooms weren't so magic if you got a bad one
But wasn't it fun!

Going to dodgy Manchester pubs for the draw
Haha, remember that night I nearly got myself shot?
I've never talked so fast in all my life
And now that we're age has caught us up
Where are we now, old friend?
You're dead and I'm falling to bits
Such fun
Back in the day

                            By Phil Roberts

Never ordinary
Never easy
Nothing parts the sea
Nothing moves the earth
This is a hard world
And there is no give at all

Don't press your face to the ground
It does not help
Don't shout at the sky
It does not hear
Nothing helps
And no-one hears
This is desolation

In the wavering distance
Less than light
Reality  drifts eerily by
There is no need to go
No reason to stay
Grey coiling wraiths
Rise and slowly sway
They could be anything
Anyone
Distinctions have no place
Nowhere to hide
Here is where souls shudder
And shatter


                                    By Phil Roberts

Misty words billow in the cold
Pluming from their mouths
Quiet swearing and first *** coughing
They walk close to hedgerows
Kicking the dew from the grass
As birds squabble over breakfast
And mushrooms are still socialising
They whistle the dogs to heel
All panting and wagging tails
Stirring the dawn damp air
For happy is the early dog
In these sumptuous fields

Now the business of dawn begins
Low sharp commands are uttered
Bringing the younger bounding learners
To a proper sense of purpose
And that high-toned cross breed
The sleek and swift lurcher
Is eternally proud and primed
This long-sprint racer
Takes inevitable chase
Without sentiment or concious cruelty
An ancient craft is practised here
With the dogs at dawn

                                By Phil Roberts

Hello
It's me again
It's the early hours and I'm slightly drunk
And it's me again

He has the sins of his mind
Which keep him warm inside
Amidst the weary and the wasted
Such warmth keeps him alive

Restless
I've always been restless
I hate to move yet I can't sit still
Hours are endless

There is a thrush inside his head
An agony of wings
Panic beaten thrashing
A cage of singing things

Anxious
Still always anxious
Even though I've slowed right down
This edge is ageless

Laying low and watching
A million sub-plots hatching
Paranoid and paranormal
He scatters to survive

                                    By Phil Roberts

A simple man is what I am
I went to no university
Or college of theology
And no doubt that's why I'm confused

It occurs to me, when we see
Leaders and generals of all countries and creeds
Celebrate their victories with smiling pride
Shouldn't they be weeping with shame
For all the innocents who've died?

They all believe that their god is on their side
And quite often, the same god at that
All down the ages, our venerable sages
Have killed, tortured and oppressed each other
In the name of the wishes of god

Now I'm just an ignorant sinner
So can someone please explain
What kind of god do these people believe in
That needs the destruction of his own creations
And all in his holy name?

                                                          ­­­  By Phil Roberts