I found her
resting atop a hill.
Where fields stretched
far beyond I could imagine.
As I approached her
She told me her name
and took my hand
and led me to places
I never thought I would go.

She led me through lustful forests.
Which heightened my senses
to the point where my mind
was overtaken by
every essence of her.
She craved for me
and I could not resist.
She pulled and tugged
at my heart.
Just as she did my hand.
Until I practically
became her shadow.

I followed her
through bad times
that brought about feelings
of pain and suffering.
These feelings would
gradually transform
to endless tears that would
slowly drip from my face
like rain upon a window.
She was still with me
but I felt her slipping away
from our grip and leaving me
to return to the restless state
I once belonged to.

She soon drifted away
and I refused to be alone
so I chased her.
With all of my strength
I pursued her for days.
Until her presence
no longer existed before me
and I was once again
alone.

Soon, the masterpiece will come.
Shh, soon you’ll fall asleep,
And maybe in your dreams discover
Words and lines to keep.

For the darkness is a tunnel
Straight to Heaven’s door,
There a thousand poets wait for you -
A thousand gone before,
Before their works were finished,
Before their jobs were through
Now creation of the masterpiece
Is solely up to you.

Hear their spirit, poet!
Listen very close.
You’ve been chosen as the protégé
But do not brag or boast
For the masterpiece consumes you,
Like hell-fire, burns you up,
Leaves you thirsting for some water
And reaching for a cup,
That crumbles when you grab it.
While the water turns to dust,
But still you keep on reaching, reaching,
You must, you must, you must.

Feel their breath, oh poet!
Cool upon your skin,
Though sweat and perspiration
Reveal the torment trapped within.
For the masterpiece consumes you,
Like a pen that’s out of ink,
Leaves you reaching for a pencil,
And needing time to think,
But both ends are erasers
Now your passion turned to lust
So still you keep on reaching, reaching,
You must, you must, you must.

For the darkness is a tunnel
A tunnel straight to Hell
There a thousand poets wait for you -
At a long abandoned well,
Before their works were finished,
The waters all ran dry
There will be no masterpiece
If all the poets die.

Shh, soon the masterpiece will come.
Shh, soon you’ll fall asleep,
And a thousand poets after you
Will search for words and lines to keep.
Phil Lindsey 6/9/15

My father
Was a violent person
Hot tempered, serious, tense.
Always, always tense.

I tried to deny it
But deep inside
I feared him.

Whenever I sensed a sudden change in his eyes,
A sudden flicker of anger on his face,
And even a sudden thickness in the air,
The fear kept creeping back

It was not the alcohol
That turned him into a monster.
Just how, in the right mind of a person,
Punch his wife,
Tear her hairs out of her scalp
And leave her body with bruises?

Just how, in the right mind of a person
Abuse his wife in front of his daughter,
Nonetheless of her daughter’s presence?

He’d hurt me too sometimes
When I tried to intervene,
To save my weak mother away from his grip.

He never apologized.
Not even once.

No matter how many miles separate us.
If you never speak to me again.

At least, I can take comfort in knowing
that when you've had your fill.
Faith lost, hope vanished from your heart
without a trace.
I know,
you'll look to the stars.
Only to see tens of thousands of them;
shinning brightly on the darkest nights.
Just for you.

And if this life is just meant to be a realm of torture.
A realm of apathy and discontent.
I find peace within my heart knowing
I'll be looking at the same sky, too.