A Ritual to Raise You

April 15, 2019

I have so little to go by,
That I’m not sure where to go.
Magic in the pockets concealed,
If no one speaks, no one knows.

I felt you in every room you’re in,
A feeling to embrace or eliminate?
Yeah, been guilty of woolen eyes,
Somewhere in between perfection and fate.

Are you playing with my cardboard puzzle pieces,
Neat little toys lined up in dress blues marching order,
Are you on lockdown or am I again late and insane,
Selling my inner time without a drop of your water?

I wish there was a ritual to raise you,
I wish I could know what to demonize.
I wonder why you try and keep conjuring me,
I wish I knew, are you the setting sun or its rise?

So many signs and signals, across time,
But every time I turn to you, you are cold,
Secrets come and go, secrets never unbound,
Is this real or have we been returned and oversold?

To be sure the answers are probably simple,
Be it the longest essay or the multiple choice,
My heart aches for relief, I made me forget,
And then you again call me in a haunted voice.

Am I just a source of an ego lost, blindly attentive,
Or is there something again true from the source,
Wish I could wish you away or wish you closer still,
Just scream to me, am I gone or do we both endorse?

I wish there was a ritual to raise you,
I wish I could know what to demonize.
I wonder why you try and keep conjuring me,
I wish I knew, are you real or just illusion to mesmerize?
Thomas Spychalski 

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Thin Skinned

April 14, 2019

“From an online debate on if grammar matters, and it does:”

I see you have pride, yes, but do you have those tools,
To take it like you love it, beaten down yes, granted,
But it is not your opponent but your ego that’s the fool,
When you have such ignorance to shun purposed rules.

A penny for naught is the same as the tired old game,
Conning yourself to declare the crown of the master,
I see the fire burning, but cannot decipher those flames,
You cannot design the interior in gold without the frame.

Grab that shield and armor, put down that weary old sword,
It was sharpened by a dream, one you never awaken from,
I cannot read you right, I get confused and really quite bored,
For in this arena it is not ‘proper’ but comprehension that is the lord.
Thomas Spychalski 


Chaff

April 6, 2019

I can look at you in beauty, but you only look at me in hate,
Now some will try and change it but I think it’s kinda late,
Some can call it bad luck, I can only call it by name as fate,
Tired of the misery, the empty times, and going without breaks.

I don’t wanna play a game that was rigged from the very start,
No one cares if like glass shatters so does your only heart,
Cold enough, I got it, was raised in ice and pulled apart,
No arrivals here, only lost baggage and timetables to depart.

Is there any proof to be any real reason to drop a dime,
When every picture frame shows the scene of a crime,
For you, it might seem foreign but I see it all the time,
Teasing, chaff glances and the barrage on my mind.

Here we go, I will have faith again obtuse and good enough to believe,
That a reality bathed in losses would ever give up quarter or reprieve,
I wish it did not assault me in sick bruises did not bring me to my knees,
But if the opposite is being felt all I ever get to feel like is the disease.

Press on, push up, still got some sacrifice meat left on these bones,
Imagination leaves me giddy, times awoke just leave me all alone,
If this is to be broken need the cavalry call, set a new static tone,
This could go either way still will it be the soothing northern lights or the familiar rough edges of the stone?
Thomas Spychalski 


Wasted in Waiting

March 18, 2019

You can longer scream because no one wants to hear it anymore (quite rightly so),
I don’t want to be this trust me truly, a broken window with no door (so where do we go?),
This is not what they said it would be if I kept me and my cool (who is it that you see?),
I admit to nothing, yes it’s hard to move from beatings but I’m no common fool (what are we trying to be?).

I Waste in waiting, inner self starts hating, why not where the hell is the proof?
That I am something, seems like nothing, this world is so hidden and aloof.
Don’t want to be the one saying it must be nice,
You have no idea how cold it is here, wrapped in ice.

So what does it feel like, I’m starting to not remember,
These feelings so useless, why shan’t I just dismember,
Please send no more hope I have no umbrella from the rain,
I beg you don’t tease my skin, it’s broken from the pain…of being wasted in waiting.

So here we are again, I feel like I was teased along to ‘why’ (where can we turn to now?)
I really believed again, now it feels like I swallowed my own lie (can we please just have relief somehow?),
Not just one item on sale but the entire lot feels broken (how can work never seem to pay?),
Still will not give in, but it’s so hard when love received is so unspoken (how do you expect one to ‘live’ this way?).

I Waste in waiting, inner self starts hating, why not where the hell is the proof?
That I am something, seems like nothing, this world is so hidden and aloof.
Don’t want to be the one saying it must be nice,
You have no idea how cold it is here, wrapped in ice.

So what does it feel like, I’m starting to not remember,
These feelings so useless, why shan’t I just dismember,
Please send no more hope I have no umbrella from the rain,
I beg you don’t tease my skin, it’s broken from the pain…of being wasted in waiting.
Thomas Spychalski


Medusa and the Stone

March 11, 2019

As the crown of snakes, we were thinking,
Like the paralyzing mixture, we were drinking,
Like the hours waiting in fear we just wasted,
Like the love we denied but still we tasted.

Everything we gave out, was reflected back,
Turned into cold dead stone, all from fear,
Not for our reflection did we shed a tear,
All good things beheaded, self-attack.

Just like Medusa turning men to stone,
There are inner things we’d never own,
Took the sword of pain to pacify serpents,
Step outside into the world never known

I will still be full of fear,
But fear is just life growing.
I can go, I cannot fail to steer,
That would bring being stone forever, never knowing.
Thomas Spychalski 


The Magnet and the Shielding

March 9, 2019

Somewhere there is that attraction for everyone,
Confusion about fusions, Shining star or mock sun?
Maybe I should grab the ropes mother tosses down,
Rope chafes, so does safe, burns only hope to turn around.

I don’t know exactly what to make of you,
You draw me in like some high powered magnet on high,
My shielding has denied, so many in hindsight I made die,
In the magpie, I collect only to deny myself, to not comply.

Drawn in and shocked when I find I have some pull,
The voice in me tells me no, do you wanna be a fool?
Silence him to move forward regroup, retry, retool,
Will I let the toys in the attic space, shatter another jewel?

Maybe it’s because we cannot quite explain,
The way someone can take away all the strain,
Even if we fall, I forgot the universe makes it plain,
So maybe this time forgo the strain and let magnets reign.
Thomas Spychalski 


Thrown In My Path

February 13, 2019

I don’t sit here and imagine perfect vistas,
Places that don’t seem to exist outside my head.
Recalling all the times I bumped into fate unprepared,
Memories of tracks you can’t replay, the station is dead.

Don’t stumble in my path,
Don’t tell me your darkest fears,
Don’t you dare tumble my heart,
When endings and motives are so unclear.

I don’t go around asking you to save my life,
Because I know the tools are buried in myself, within,
I can help you and will, but then forget I exist.
To be without longing is to be without future sin.
Thomas Spychalski 


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