Loose Cannon

July 3, 2017

cropped-72164_158788684142255_2948564_n.jpgYou say I’m always primed to fire and everyone labels me a liar, they say I never say I follow through…

But I have never seen the world treat me like they do all of you.

 

You see I help people to love and yet no one can claim love for me, you see you’re not there on the regular real time but I am always resurrected for your misery’s.

I hear I change lives, that I can do so much good, then why in a world full of people do I feel like I’m not even in your neighborhood?

 

You say I’m always primed to fire and everyone says I’m a denier, they say I know the knowledge but I never do…

But I have never seen the community, that seems to flow through all of you…

So excuse the errant blasts, I never wanted this fuse or my darkened battlefield of a past.

So, as I set in you in my sites…

And toss the ordinance of my hurting heart…

To all, I know that this is not right, but the spinning wheels of life for this loose cannon are tearing him apart.

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Sub-root Proxy Text

June 8, 2017

Self-prophesized to death,

so as I take the next heavy breath,

I wonder why I’m still swinging…

 

Aches in my bruised heart,

Thoughts broke down and apart,

So why are we still clinging…

 

And as we run the sub-root proxy text,

I can tell you, just what happens next,

internally parts of me drown inside another,

not quite sure whether to love or destroy each other.

 

To know thy enemy is great advice, but to be both the aggressor and the defender is to be cut twice.

Thomas Spychalski 

 


Coming Home

February 22, 2017

419204_353369678017487_824202948_nShuffle through suffer and toil, bodies on the boil.

Waiting for Day’s end here, even though it ain’t clear.

Observing the world around, your life brings me down.

La Fin, filled with doubt, for now, we must go without.

 

Coming home again, even if home is away,

Nothing from no one, no one to share any day,

I can fight it, I can make it relent, but it plays.

Every time you think you’re out, you find it stays.

 

Just wanna head home, don’t need no restricted zone, don’t need no ragged bones, through what we have shown, should we not have gotten a tasting on the life the world has shown?

 

Empty uninterested faces, what can I do to get in good graces?

Everlasting question, forbidden you must never mention.

About the scarring tears, about the worry and the fears.

Asking, pleading, needing, no feeding, to what fate are we speeding?

 

Coming home again, even if home is away,

Nothing from no one, no one to share any day,

I can fight it, I can make it relent, but it plays.

Every time you think you’re out, you find it stays.

Just wanna head home, don’t need no restricted zone, don’t need no ragged bones, through what we have shown, should we not have gotten a tasting on the life the world has shown?

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Stitches And Scalpels

February 22, 2017

Fast, the one that burns the forest straight to the ground…

Last, the one that gets to be king, wear the crown…

Hiding, here talents squared and silently laid to rest…

Biding, time in daydreams/nightmares or just a jest?

 

Wandering, here where I am alone and afraid…

Pondering, where I was when this was made…

Uneducated, in the ways of the Human unkind…

Annunciated, all the pain, said fuck pride…

 

And yet dreams still spit, lovely dark hope I want to try.

Yet I split, reach out, cut down, then we ask why?


Second Hand Prayer

January 29, 2017

10329669_748016928552758_1804625525937412375_oThe mind is like a clock, ticking ever on, by the time you turn to face it, that second is already gone.

Wistful thinking in blue draped satin feelings of grace, tick-tock, on and on we drop to the resting place.

Born of fire and cooled by the world of temperance and temptation, we inward march, with or without invitation.

Secrets are never secret, we all can see the truth of the matter, yet when our backs are weak with weight, the rest can shatter.

Only by walking on the bed of nails can we ever find the path that leads to the garden, but the road has not always been kind, excuse me, beg please now my pardon.

Let me in I have been knocking as the clock ticks forever more, or at least can someone point me to the light that illuminates the way to my door…

Thomas Spychalski


Full Redemption, Healing, Sorry About the Lapse of Grace

January 25, 2017

IMAG2853I have found the base of my personal religion,

Found the time, to make the decisions….

To times unkind, we unwind dead premonitions,

I still can be blind, to un-ignited ammunition.

 

I am trying the best I can, to be the person I see inside this man.

Horrid, horrid, yes I know I can be,

But war is hell and the war is in me.

Casualties mount, so many I cannot count…

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Just Beneath The Skin

January 5, 2017

From out of the storm walked the souls, clinging to the masks sewn on at birth and learning their roles.406522_322086917812430_414015272_n

Drenched in tears from the Earth Mother, in their arms treasures wrapped in rags like no other.

Grouping not together but alone or in mismatched pairs, waiting for the roadside snake oil men to sell their wares.

Feet shuffled along on the road of mud that was once dust, heads down low from the rain lest their hearts rust.

The salesman waited with black smiles of glee, ‘We will trap them here, they will never be free.’

When the many souls asked the price of the poisoned vision in the salesmen’s bags, they lifted dirty crooked fingers and pointed at the treasures wrapped in the rags.

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