Am I the only one you follow home
From the subway late at night,
As the street lights form my shadow,
Hours before the morning light?

My briefcase, though it’s leather
Is empty. And it’s old.
Once, long months and years ago
It may have carried gold,

But I’ve thrown it all away
As I’ve gambled ‘way my soul,
You are stalking just a shadow man;
I cannot make you whole.

I can tell you stories,
Some are lies and some are true
I’ve no intent of malice,
It’s just a thing that poets do.

Turn an ordinary circumstance
Into song for all to read,
Sometimes the song cuts close to home
Causes heart to ache or bleed.

When a poem causes reader tears
The poet also cries,
For the pain that wounds the reader’s heart
Is real in poet’s eyes.
Phil Lindsey  5/28/15