Every time I reach out,
My hands been burned.
Now here I am buried alive,
Never again, lesson learned.

The times I fooled myself,
That I could ‘have’ as you.
Smacked back to my station,
New bruises black and blue.

So how does it feel to be loved,
Can you tell me so I can know?
Please no more lies that they do,
Nothing I have ever seen grow.

I ask so much I suppose now,
Wanting to be treated like I exist.
Instead of being ignored and banished,
Yet the ones with will just insist.

That’s it’s out there somewhere,
My time is waiting yet to come,
Then why am I treated so inhuman,
Only used when I need to heal the war ‘you’ came from?
Thomas Spychalski 

2 Responses to Illusions

  1. obekpa05 says:

    Great poem Tom. More of this. Hope you get all that you deserve. Cheers

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