Keep the innocents in the village
Don't let the children play outside
The homeless and the nameless
Must stay huddled together
Finding shelter where they can

Because there are killers high above
Dropping bombs of hatred and rhetoric
Killing and maiming indiscriminately
And the killers are from so many places
Leaders from all over the world
Whose only morality is ambition
And their only emotion is paranoia

And those who dare to disagree
Are shut up or closed down
Never to be heard from again
And those who care to notice
Are watching open-mouthed
The bloodied stump of history
Right before their eyes

                                   By Phil Roberts

I love the way you are... so confidently you.

The way you know my deep blue soul and pretend I don't know you at all.

The way you refuse to see me and yet, time and time again, open the door.

It's the way you light my cigarettes that I adore.

The way you admit I am completely out of my mind and hold me sweetly as if to say you accept it unconditionally.

The way you love sad songs and share them with me.

The way you playfully point your guns at me when I spit fire.

It's the way you sing proudly out of tune that I admire.

The way you make Dad-jokes and chuckle at mine too.

I love the way you are...so confidently you.

I wrote a f-cking poem for you.

You tell me how they broke your heart and how you wished for someone who would love all your broken parts.

You'd say "She treated me like dirt" followed by a shrug. Then you turn your back to me when I lean in for a hug?

I think you're in denial, my attempts are plain to see.

So now you won't remember all those hours in your room, where I let you break all over me?

You ungrateful little sh-t.

What about that time I covered you with blankets and let you make me sick?

Blah blah blah...

I imagine your eyes right now, rolling back. "Whatever Mel, boo hoo."

But I wrote a f-cking poem for you.