Secrets of sins
Concealed within
Festering beneath my skin
Deceit and lies
All your faults I hide
Lips are sealed until I die

I wish you would stop revealing all your secrets for me to contain
I wish you would stop involving me in the shame

And I wonder if the Lord would understand
I wonder if He'd care that in your faults I didn't want to play a hand
I'm afraid I've ****** myself
Through passive acceptance

If someone says, “And time stood still,”
Consider him an imbecile.
Time creeps, it flies, it disappears,
It changes seconds into years,
Consumes our life,
Each passing day,
And woe the soul
That’s in its way.

Time marches on, as if to war
Countless battles fought before
Why do we refuse to yield?
Lay down our helmet, sword, and shield
Is it so hard
For us to see
That time will claim
The victory?

Time overpowers the strongest men,
And laughs at those who try in vain,
To conquer time, for they will die
Not knowing when, or how, or why
Yes, we will die
While time endures
Time mourns no life
Not mine, not yours.

Time humbles strong, and kills the weak,
It laughs at those who dare to speak,
As if they understand its goal,
Time will extract its rightful toll.
No money spent
Can slow time down.
Time will have
The rich King’s crown.
Phil Lindsey 4/23/15

"I see the beauty in the leafless trees.
I see the beauty in one wearing torn sleeves.
I see the beauty in the cancer child without hair.
I see the beauty in the legless man in his wheel chair.
I see the beauty in the homeless just sitting there.
I see the beauty in the humans that show they care.
I see the beauty in the fool on the hill.
I see the beauty in his heart praying to change the worlds will.
I see the beauty in all that see ugly.
I see the beauty in me that those who see the ugly, will never see ."

Hold on.
I have to clean this up.
I don't want your soles to get cut up by my lack of ambidexterity.
I'm right-handed but I thought I'd try this out with my left
And I'm not as deft with it, especially in the moment, but I thought I'd give it a shot anyway.

It's my fault... I don't know how to juggle.

I'm usually good with rotation but
between the dilation of my eyes and the inflation of my ego,
the sensation of being flippant left me in a painted tuxedo

And it's raining...It's been raining.

I'm not complaining but the paint
is running and bleeding; An apotheosis of Leonid Afremov
needing emotional content to prove I exist.

*I don't mean to be like this. I don't want to be like this.

last Easter I wrote a poem for you
with rhyming words and beautifully constructed stanzas
about the way your hair looks and the way I wanted you and the way things were changing but -
April came back around all too fast this year and I don't write poems like I used to.
this isn't poetry.
this is October nights with glazed eyes,  burning throats and so much trauma, so much trauma, so much ******* trau-
this is November afternoons smoking my lungs black and tears that i drowned in for every day of that month.
this is December mornings when I spent all my money on Christmas decorations because I thought it would be my last.
this is New Years Eve, clutching her back and sobbing into her shoulders because I couldn't believe I made it - how the hell did I make it?  this is me thanking her, and her, and her too for stitching me back together. this is champagne and the grace of God.
this is February when you came back to me  and as much as i wanted to throw dirt back in your face, I held onto it in hopes of planting something new.
this is March when it wouldn't stop snowing.
this isn't poetry.
this is April,
this is me taking the dirt and burying the idea of us six feet under.
this isn't poetry,
this is Spring and this is the last time you will be mentioned with it.

What do mirrors see
When they look into themselves?
They see an unending
always-changing
maze
of themselves.
Full of
twists and
turns that
will never be explored.

What do people see
When we look into themselves?
We see a
never ceasing
always growing
labyrinth
of ourselves.
Full of
secrets and
pain that
will never be uncovered.

So, my dear, I ask you again:
What do mirrors see
When they look into themselves?

I Don't belong here.
In this castle built with lies
stranded at the tallest tower
with nowhere to run
and everywhere to hide

I don't belong here
in this house of plaited gold
looking grand and innocent
the mocking oxymoron, masking
the nightmare that lay behind

I don't belong here
in this forced dream of fancy
in this perfect american family
that choked me into a whisper
complete with silent feet
and empty words

I don't belong here
stuck behind a wooden door
I closed myself
locked from the outside
with bolts of judgement
that my cowardice
won’t allow me to break

I don't belong here

So I lean my back against the gold,
and the stone and the wood
shut my eyes as tight as I could
and fought the instinct of flight
then I wished and wished with all my might
to live in the rose colored cliche
and wake to a golden carriage
with a price knocking at my door
ready to whisk me away
because I don't belong here
I’ve never belonged here
standing in plaited gold.

Night is like my heart's brother
One like the other
My heart is always at rest
It needs someone to detest
Love is hate's brother
One like the other
My heart is too calm and too still
Where are the flames
That are suppose to instill these youthful years
Night is too quiet and nimble
Am I really that simple?
I want to feel butterflies
Fall deep into someone's eyes
Will I be  discovered ?
Or forever be stuck under these covers
Perhaps the dark sky is not just a brother
It is my entity.