Digging Again

churchyard graves

I guess at this point we just bury it all again,

No difference between the now and the then,

No sense of love, no joy, no longer a trend,

When your darkest thoughts are your only friends.

 

Start breaking ground, grab your spade and dig,

The game is fixed to favor the rich, it’s rigged,

From the ghost of a mother to the father who was a pig,

Only one place to bury the tears, pain, and the stigma.

 

Bury me again, It hurts but it all does anyway,

I feel the light but no one lets me play,

Tired of standing on weak legs broken feet,

At least six feet down, I can feel somewhat complete.

 

Funeral day begins, but as usual no one attends.

Tell me they care till the pretending ends,

No way when this poor to make self-amends,

So I raise hell, the only way I know how to defend.

 

Rain pours down, undrinkable for a thirsty heart,

My god how did this all begin, how are we back at start,

When the good things are always driven, broken apart,

The only thing you can do is make you’re dying an art.

 

Bury me again, It hurts but it all does anyway,

I feel the light but no one lets me play,

Tired of standing on weak legs broken feet,

At least six feet down, I can feel somewhat complete.

 

Holy men walk away from the fresh grave,

No amount of anything could ever save,

The boy that had to once be so brave,

Forever made the losing fool, a knave.

 

Tossing the soil, just let it rain down,

Everybody keeps spinning me around,

Only underneath do I feel solid ground,

Where the eyes are blind and the heart hears not a sound.

 

Bury me again, It hurts but it all does anyway,

I feel the light but no one lets me play,

Tired of standing on weak legs broken feet,

At least six feet down, I can feel somewhat complete.

Thomas Spychalski

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