The Burial
Two days old she was attending
her mother's funeral
pictures were taken when
she sees them she will be proud and sad
she will be proud and sad
I did not attend my mother's
she died  a day before Christmas
hurriedly buried the diggers
wanted the day off
when I got the on a plane
it was too late I didn't leave
A small woman
Her bones must be tiny
Her skull big and empty
it has nothing to tell
So long ago
The woman I remember
has been reinvented
so many times
she was pygmy gave
me to a Swedish missionary  
who soaked me in bleach for
a week I'm so white need
no flashlight
I cannot remember the real one
But she is in here somewhere.

S  i  c k
      f  u  c k
        

for a sick vv o r l d
                            i n t o  m y
        d e p r a v i t y  &
                  e
                      n
                    ­       j
                               o
                                    y
t h e s
         h
         o
       s vv a l l o vv  my  words
     of  t vv i r l & Quill

     Save your teeth
       for a dinner date
        to chevv
         O N  M E a t
       try not to be late

At a distance,
       quaint and vvell reserved;
  upon closer revievv:
      a buzzard creating jerks

Play it on repeat,
Sulk on my defeat;
The scars increased without me knowing;
Knowing the fallacies that had been pouring;
******* up my mind,
Reason for some reason I can't find.
It broke.

I am just as evil as you are.
That damming claws at my ev'ry choice,
but steadily I will hold the bar
and 'member my inner sound, my voice.

The call rings. I answer with virtue,
recalling reasons not to hurt you.
You spout your hate and project your pain;
pain - that chorus I will not refrain.

Sometimes I wince and curse the earth
and others I rinse and find rebirth.
Sometimes I lie the dead night awake
to try to burn before daylight breaks.

The saga lives, I'm tired of its tail.
I'm using all my strength to prevail.
The serpent slowly slithers around,
but again I bring the giant down.

Some nights
the moon throws its light
like an old man
who can't hold his liquor in
and spits blood in the morning

Someone ought to kick some sense
into me, if they did I'd hum
like the body of a fiddle

I propose we all strip down
and take a swim with my friends
the dragonflies, but no one will listen
to what I have to say when I throw my voice
like an empty bottle deep in the forest

When I think of all the dark
and swift things of my rivers,
I wonder why time the old boot -
legger hides his maps and goes
on traveling the low roads

Alone I can tell you there is so much
beside the point of the thorn of the rose
and why the moon is with me always
whenever i choose to go it alone

I drink from that blue jar of time
and breathe the breath of sweet infants

Believe you me the dead shepherd
we sent up the river in a faraway land
in a time so long ago still holds us
all by the holes in his hands

You can see the dark clouds up ahead,
my cloisters I am always walking through them
with you children of the lost dreams,
and with you fifty-something snow-headed men

We have just collided with our lost sons
on the high road of morning, we are rising
dust like the dirt on our children's graves
saying nothing to our brothers the stones.

Beyond the rolling bones
Of memory's myths
And the ancient sounds of laughter and tears
Something mystical exists
Something deeper than marrow
The seeds of our ancestor's dreams and fears
And at a level beyond our knowing
It still rules our actions
And leads us to our fates

                                             By Phil Roberts

What I Meant:

cue tumblr poem prompt

What I meant
the last time I said
"I love you":
  

You are destroying me
but I'm letting you,
You are a fire and
your arms around me
make my thoughts scream

This is not
just an impulse
not just a match
I'm lighting up,
This type of love
will never burn out
no matter how
many times
our lips will be
coated in ash.

I would rather decompose
than leave you,
so cover me
in a veil of your flames.

- Crimsyy