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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Exulansis

January 5, 2017

cropped-404193_353356824685439_994789052_n.jpgWhat can I say now, sitting on my words that are not quite masking?

Where can I go with these, when every turn makes me feel like never asking?

I don’t expect you to understand and I don’t want pity, I just want to feel like a man and not be alone in this internal dead end city.

 

Finding it hard to speak, without giving the sorrow away…

Jabs from your joy tweak, and I never really meant to say…

How bad it is here now, no life here on this barren rock…

I will fight through somehow, but I did lose it all with this madness on the clock?

-Thomas Spychalski


This, That or the Other

January 3, 2017

tree-and-sunWhat hurts more…then the times I made you hate you hate me, are the times I really made you care.

What burns out, in the twilight…are not the moments of rejection but the times you wanted me there.

Anyway, who can say? It’s all just a play, and one day we will all sell out.

 

So when I go…into new days, it’s not the fear of getting back, it’s the fear of another fall.

And so you know…as I find ways, it’s never the road behind I fear but rather the cracks ahead that make me stall.

Whatever now, who can ask? Don’t like the task of the push but I shoved first.

 

So to all when you take the time to ponder on me, whether it is of things lost and things you could see, is he a man or a mouse, I know you have your doubts.

Oh, how it all kills me to recall when I saw kindness at all, instead of the ticking clock to count down premature end…

So, when I get back on the horse, after the course and friendship divorce, I see how things they bend…

As a wish and a gift I wish I could, turn off the guilt and the hilt of the sword that I think cuts me out…

Complications, aggravations from what’s at hand, lines pushed back every time you make a stand and all the doubt…and just hear the beats you all tried to send.

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