Within the mists of the dammed each
droplet that forms burns upon mortal
coils. Searing upon the corruption that
hides beneath silken deceptions.

Shadows wonder on the waters of tears,
echoes of what was but now a mere image
of what lumbered beneath. With each silhouette  
that drowned beneath its weight of sorrow.

In the mists an echo of their anguish forms
then just as it was it fades from memory like
so many before it. And then another seed
wonders in the mist and its true form blossoms.

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

A storm is brewing in the east
and a white bird is flying high,
like the shadow of smoke
from the last fires in the moonlight,
lying crossways over the bed
on her belly in dark *******,
whatever she is dreaming
its meaning she keeps to herself.

I feel the world crashing
Falling all around me
Hiding, inside, shaking
But I'm okay

My head in a million pieces
I don't know who I am
Or who I'm supposed to be
But I'm okay

I'm okay
Yeah, I'm pretending
I'm okay

I'm okay
Keep on telling myself
I'm okay

Sometimes I think of you
How you used to hurt me
Then giving me all the blame
But I'm okay

Yes, I have had better days
Wanting to be somewhere
Somewhere away from this
But I'm okay

I'm okay
Yeah, I'm pretending
I'm okay

I'm okay
Keep telling myself
I'm okay

My mind is a little crazy
Locked up in my asylum
Where all the mad me dwell
But I'm okay

No one listens to my voice
I can't tell if I still exist
Or a figment of my imagination
But I'm okay

I'm okay
Yeah, I'm Pretending
I'm okay

I'm okay
I don't believe myself
I'm okay

Copyright © Chris Smith 2016

Sometimes I like to sit in the dark all
alone . In the silence of my room .
Listening to the thunder in my head
and
the flashing of my thoughts against
the walls of my past . Soaking in the
resolutions of the pouring down disdain .