Is it possible
to care too much?
Even when
pieces of hope fall away
like parts of a derelict house,
yet belief endures.
Outside logic's doors
deep within
the heart and soul
I swear, beyond the grave.
And so it is no.
It's not possible
to care too much.

                             By Phil Roberts

Pickaxe swings,
shards fly.
Pieces move,
yet inners hide.

I've been swinging
both day and night.
Understanding you
is a futile fight.

As I sit here,
rooted to the ground
like the trees that surround,
day fades to night
and the sky sheds its color.
I gaze longingly as lovers pass
on the dimly lit
moonlight path,
charged on the energy
they generate together.

As I sit here
waiting for you,
I wonder if we will
ever be like that.
I wonder if you will ever feel
the current I feel
when you're around.
Your smile alone,
sends a spark through me
strong enough to knock me down.
I struggle to stay grounded
next to you.

As I sit here
I wonder when
it will be our turn
to love the fire inside.
To let it out
and show the world
how we burn for each other.

Until then
I will stay rooted here
waiting...
for you to unearth
the love
we've both been
waiting for..

where will they take me
this thick, whirling cloud
of birds?

I lower my shotgun;
my targets were to be
a skein of geese

(corpulent, impertinent
avian freaks I have seen
peck children's shins)

these smaller birds
perform a choreography electric,
black against blue

now I know the meandering
meaning of mesmerize--my eyes
glued to the skies

more agape than the hunter
in me--wishing to watch this wave
undulate an eternity

but alas, the flock turns
into a naked sun; I am forced
to shield my eyes

my hand blocks the blare
of light, with it, the whipping tail of
their liquid flight

when I lower it, they are
but a haze near the horizon, performing
magic for another audience

Time changes all things;
seashells of the past become
the sand of today.