Self Composite Sketch

They took the eyes of a clear-headed man, he would see no bias and could also see with clarity how foolish every society around him was because they refused the greatest gift, the gift of themselves, which would later be a great source of irony.

Heart of tarnished gold, made that way by the smoke burnt down below, in some ways a treasure in the world as it is now and in others an overcompensating parody of what the heart does, dipping into contracted tyranny.

Mind ‘scattered’ with gifts to be sure, but this one had been rocked, this one had been rolled, words and notes can flow like a fastly moving stream, complex thoughts lead to a wondrous and misunderstood place where the greatest of man has arisen before, but yet the pain that has throbbed forever has never fully abated.

In the mind, there are gifts but also unwanted property, a million insults programmed in the pathways of daily creation, deadly mantras that in horror feel like breath, for even as the memories remain and time works its fading magic, the truest truth remains, it was never the world, but the mirror he truly hated.

Body wore with premature burden, too many it seems at time for the rest to safely carry, for a man who just wants to be like what he sees the cruelest of lessons, if fear is not chased, it chases you down till it rapes you of yours until you see the error and make the corrections.

A soul that was older then it’s behavior at times let show, also the place where dreams were stored and where a small person once was locked away, slowly to emerge year after year, slowly gaining the others attention.

Yet for the pair, the heart was silly in its desires, the mind was brilliant yet devastatingly irrational and the body just would not keep the promise most bodies could make, adding to a formula already awash in complexity.

Time has looped over and over again in time with the mind, the same scenario plays out because lessons will be repeated, missing basics hastens Fall leaves like a cold wind, but to the solution plain the damage still cries out in rage in unrequited emotion at karma’s judge and jury while repeatedly scanning for miracles to life’s perplexities.

Thomas Spychalski

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