The Meal

March 14, 2018
Love and hate mix well with sugar,
Bitterness seasons the only found sustenance,
Baking in the empty house of haunting,
Choking on overdone broken promises.
Say the prayer before the meal is eaten,
“That’s not true, it will not always be this way.”
Then you can devour what words I say or write,
Relish in courses I can produce on a silver place.
After as we slouch, engorged you are with needs met,
Pride of the artist, I am glad you enjoyed your repast.
Heart arising, the tip must now be mine, it must be time,
Yet again alone, no matter the impression, I never dine.
Thomas Spychalski 

Silence, Silver Shards and Other Sharp Objects

March 5, 2018

What can I say in front of the people?
What can I do always team of just I?
Billions wide and millions of miles around,
Why is it I cannot find the solace you found?

Need a breakaway soul,
Want a tear-a-way heart,
Desire Blinded eyes.

Crush on the death,
Because no love in life,
Sun hangs in empty skies.

Meanwhile outside the pulpit,
On which I seem stuck to worship,
Faith in pain, power of loss,
Compels you to leave, trip.

Gift me a heart or go,
Bleed me as they always do,
Stitches never, no sedation.

Love the painting do you?
But no one loves the man,
So lost, so what, lost in translation.
Thomas Spychalski 

Will And The Won’t Dare

February 28, 2018

Sell me on Peter Pan sacred words from the normal,
Doesn’t matter the dress be it casual or formal,
This is my home, this is where I reside,
Lack of movement, no more pride.

Cannot tell you the last time I think I won,
If the heart is weightless, sickness weighs a ton,
Wasted days, morality plays, a loaded gun,
Empty beds, empty days, out of it no fun.

Would you love me, if I was all you see,
Tempted, but pre-empted, never free,
Torture, self-realized,
Mind, self-agonized,
No money to play, no even a booby prize.

Tell me of worlds I’ll never live in till expire,
Teach me of  your burn, but I will never fire,
Untreated, unwanted, I am not blind,
Here you are telling me how kind…it can be.

Not, never, always, forever, eternity, not for me,
Not the man you want, from printed worlds you see,
Love this mind, but whoever loves the flesh,
Show me, show me, but nobody has as of yet.

So you want me to wait for a stupid fantasy come dream,
I loved fully, rejected, not protected, and I scream,
What’s the use of loving that painted avatar,
When no one viewing can see past the scars?

Please, I love more than you could ever understand,
Sit here in the dark, loving, no one to take my hand,
This existence shallow, no one ever to share the road,
I can shine, but by the divine, no one ever wants what I show.
Thomas Spychalski

Wise Thought of the Day # 14:

February 24, 2018

“Love is something that can be held but never kept if you hold too tightly, love is a mixture of two breathing souls that must learn to breathe in rhythm, love is like painting a landscape with two brushes, not quite knowing what valleys and mountains the other party might paint, but just knowing you have to see the finished picture.” – TWS18


February 23, 2018

They push it in our faces,
But they never see,
What it is to live alone in the world,
When you are someone like me.

Caretaker, with no carer,
Heavy heart, no barer,
They tell me life is more than sorrow and pain,
So when do I get to come in from the rain?

No matter what I do to impress,
All falls backward, a regress,
Love still a four letter word,
Lines between me and what you see blurred.

Never was asking for diamonds and gold,
Just a chance to share the light you hold,
See many unworthy suitors at every throne,
Meanwhile time ticks, and I become unknown.
Thomas Spychalski

Wise Thought of the Day # 13

February 11, 2018

…For something to be born so dark, it must have fallen from a great source of light.”– TWS Fish Out of Water column/Feb 2018

I’m Your Regret

February 9, 2018

From where we stand, cannot get you to smile rightly,
Can’t get that love that shines in you so brightly,
Something missing been gone a long long time,
Love and despise this shine I snake-oil mime.

Then the programming calls my drives,
From what I hear, once a way to survive.
Beaten into me how low I could get,
Angels I’ve teased my greatest regret.

Here I sit hurting myself in silence,
Last call, last act, lost child’s defiance,
This should be long gone in the rearview,
Get good, see light and run away anew.

I don’t want to be your regret,
The one who could but hasn’t yet,
If I hurt you think of the wounds I self-inflict,
Just to get to my twisted view of perfect.

Wishing it was not this all through the days,
I see what I ignore, what I throw away,
Want to sleep, not in death but in ignorance,
Mind stripped of this old pestilence.

Now make me hurt, it’s all I know,
Make me miss you every time you go,
So sorry I could not be your king but your pawn,
Still regenerating, for every dark day one more dawn.
Thomas Spychalski

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