Shackles and Brains

November 19, 2018

One thought to remember,
One thought to forget.
One bullet in the chamber,
One shot, two to regret.

Hearts screaming in bondage,
What’s with the shackles and brains?
Outside the calm in the carnage,
Effigy of knowledge for faith, yet we refrain.

Two ways to take the fork,
Two paths to stumble down.
Two directions of applied torque,
Two colors, same torn gown.

Eyes ever seeing in blindness,
What’s with the shackles and brains?
Moonlight illuminates  the thoughtless,
So why does it only seem to wane?

Three questions without simple answers,
Three riddles engraved in so tight and true.
Three sirens: seductive, evasive, nimble dancers,
Three lessons we’ve long since outgrew.

Hands reaching out for solace,
What’s with the shackles and brains?
Caught in a state of this polus,
Sticks and spurs, still taking the strain.
Thomas Spychalski 

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Locks

October 7, 2018

If there was a place of leaving,
Just any way out of here will do,
It makes the pain lose it’s meaning,
The only oracle I have to cling to.

Wretched circle, leave me be,
Take your kit and walk away.
But I am you as you are me,
Which is why you always stay.

Apparition in the truest sense,
Dead and haunting is all you are.
Yet twisted logic comes to defense,
Hence you being my seeing star.

I hate you for making me love you,
An addiction these thoughts feed.
Same scenes, joys are ever few,
So you must give me what I need.

Mouse in the wheel going round again,
No cage needed we have experience.
Even stone moves now and then.
Then you make your reappearance.
Thomas Spychalski 


Same Old, Same Old

September 28, 2018

I have been singing this song through decades,
So long that I have lost my voice.
Turning pain and anger into a blockade,
Until we eliminate the will to make a choice.

So sick of the curse, still can’t break the spell,
Chanting mantras of the already dead.
Mother Nature dear, this is hell,
This book has already been read.

Trying to move,
Wrapped in stone.
Trying to prove,
I can achieve, atone.

Trying to speak,
For once to be bold.
But there is no new peak,
Just the same old.

I have worn this expression forever,
So long I don’t know how I look.
Although no one changes my good soul, ever,
I cannot seem to remove the hook.

So disgusted by what I read in people’s eyes,
To where I no longer want to see.
Want to shed this never wanted disguise,
Have no idea how to set myself free.

Trying to move,
Wrapped in stone.
Trying to prove,
I can achieve, atone.

Trying to speak,
For once to be bold.
But there is no new peak,
Just the same old.
Thomas Spychalski 


The Drop

September 24, 2018

I could think you love me or be certain you hate me,
Especially the latter if I know the love is real and free.
Be stone cold as a chilling unreadable marble statue,
Or grab you by the child’s soul, make you believe.

Spin your dreams into gold, or dredge up the old evil spirits,
Especially if you awaken the heaven to hell and you can hear it,
Ticking inside me these twin clocks, keeping a different time,
Irreversible magnet to heal or scare you to be anywhere near it.

At times the drop is a choice,
At others, the drop is a voice,
Sometimes born of things gone,
Kinging kings and pawning pawns.
Thomas Spychalski 


Numb Skin

September 17, 2018

It’s the tiniest littlest things that will last the longest,
The weakest memories that soon become the strongest,
Like a dream carved into the endings of your nerves.

So long out in the dryest desert without the feel and the touch,
Everyone and I shout me down, says it does not mean so much,
However, two lights are always better at illuminating the swerves.

It’s been so long now think I have got numb skin,
I could tell you a tale, but don’t know where to begin,
It’s beginning to feel like I am not a sinner but the sinned,
I feel like I’m taking another on the chin just to unpin it all away.

It’s the miniature heart attacks on a cold night that keep you wanting,
Ghosts ready to move on again are the variables of this constant haunting,
Self before others, responsibility to larger things just burns the circles closed.

Grateful for somethings but so mad at others, don’t want to wear this badge,
Try and try again but time ticks it’s wicked keeping and it won’t let me lag.
Because sometimes the lustful loneliness beneath this calm water is exposed.

It’s been so long now think I have got numb skin,
I could tell you a tale, but don’t know where to begin,
It’s beginning to feel like I am not a sinner but the sinned,
I feel like I’m taking another on the chin just to unpin it all away.
Thomas Spychalski 


Unlisted

September 7, 2018

You can sit right there reading the lists,
A way to needlessly complicate all of this,
Searching for sages in a sea of vapid opinions,
But it’s not theirs, not their sacred mission.

All the real reasons unlisted,
behind the veil of self, misted.
The things we missed,
Right there in the midst,
Do not resist, give it a twist.
Disarmed by instinct, finally, put down fist.

Experts and fools say much the same lines,
Depending on you, never want to pay the fines,
Teachers, better preachers live on the inside,
While we all cower from reflection, away ‘we’ hide.

All the real reasons unlisted,
behind the veil of self, misted.
The things we missed,
Right there in the midst,
Do not resist, give it a twist.
Disarmed by instinct, finally, put down fist.

Shower yourself in your own reign,
Gotta be better than indecision, pain,
Cry out for soothing relaxing relief,
Which prophets steal from you like a thief.

All the real reasons unlisted,
behind the veil of self, misted.
The things we missed,
Right there in the midst,
Do not resist, give it a twist.
Disarmed by instinct, finally, put down fist.

No longer sheltered from my own sweet voice,
“You know my love, this is all your own choice,”
Turn up that collar against the pouring storm,
No outer heat is as hot as the lights inside, so warm.

All the real reasons unlisted,
behind the veil of self, misted.
The things we missed,
Right there in the midst,
Do not resist, give it a twist.
Disarmed by instinct, finally, put down fist.
Thomas Spychalski 


Armor and Chains

September 7, 2018

Better than I have been in a long time,
No idea why.
Shelter in my own cast dye,
Instead of the lie.

Confused by the courage, been fooled before,
By lonely times.
Bemused by the lack of self-talkin’ grime,
Can this forever be mine?

It’s the armor instead of the ball and chains,
Fear still arising, anger if I focus on the pain,
Can I keep looking East, never set in the west,
Only projecting the secrets held, our very best.

Grateful for a breather but fearing the coming of the dark,
The killer, the liar, the hater, and the poisoned heart, can they return?
Just a fleeting spectacular glance of a new and better season,
For me, not you, for me should be no better reason not to burn.

Rising but so afraid of the common fall,
Damaged by the speed of descent.
Mixed messages again on the stage, present,
Non-intended intent.

Betrayal can only come by own hands,
Such is the oldest disease,
The destroyer’s perspective must not be appeased,
When he pulls my leash, stay off my knees.
Thomas Spychalski 


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