158. Give Me a Hand


I saw its hand reach out to me.

In the dark it nightly watched,

Stalking my soul as a decree.

No choice: it had to have me.

Closer and closer it notched.

Its’ ghastly hand found once,

A place upon my shoulder cold.

Why is this only what it hunts?

My eyes cared only of confronts,

So they turned back to behold.

O’ what a hideous game to play,

There I saw nothing but black,

And a dim-hand far away.

O’ to offer…then steal away,

And accentuate the lack.

I painfully motioned hand outward,

To grant forth what I thought it sought.

How could I know this was absurd?

To know what this could have spurred?

It joined my hand not.

I stumbled to move in near.

Bones broke and blood teared down,

But no longer did I fear!

Then it…o yes…did disappear,

And I was left to drown.

Death is a demons’ jester-pawn.

Walking our eyes upon its’ path.

All made and held swiftly gone,

In pursuit of this path it’s on.

To fall, then arise, a living blood-bath.

And death: vast years away,

Laughs the empty hours away.

K. Aldaya, 8/14/05

Picture: “Scary Shadow” by krowngraphics; http://krowngraphics.webs.com/apps/photos/photo?photoid=43873623


157. Ardent Hope


Will I finally be chosen tonight?

The storm-clouds are gathered,

Trembling in the sight,

Of streaks of sunlit-air.

Yes, I see it there…in light.

Is it my turn to be taken?

Basked in branched eye-stars,

Which carry with a shakin’,

My soul to heaven above?

O’ leave me not forsaken!

For forever I will be,

Longing to be there and free.

K. Aldaya, 8/7/05

Picture:  “Stairway to Heaven” by floriancats on Deviant Art; http://floriancats.deviantart.com/art/Stairway-to-heaven-346613349

156. Falling Rain


The body won’t forget what the mind wants to,

So I’m stuck with these old feelings,

And a constant aching-clue,

As to why there are no ceilings,

On this house or any other.

A protective realm of dry,

Under the blackened shadows of the rainy sky.

Bones rust and rot, …hoping to die.

The mind doesn’t want to recall what the body’s kept,

For the mind escaped somewhere while the body slept.

Dreams…0’dreams have brought me here,

To this time I own,

But skin decays, in gripped portrays,

Of storms the mind’s disowned.

The body won’t forget what the mind longs to.

The damage is already done,

Though God’s pulled the years through,

Out of the flood and mounting mud,

Having no reason…not one…haven’t a clue,

For the hours and minutes here are,

Undeserving of a mind.

In a cursed tomb as this with no covering to find….

And there’s one drop…more behind.

K. Aldaya, 8/6/05

Picture:  “Rain Drops” by Austin Tolin on Flickr; https://www.flickr.com/photos/austintolin/124121992/in/set-72057594085954911

155. Lost Voice



No words to find,

Within the reasoning of the mind.

Searching, searching, far and wide,

For ways to speak the words confined.


The mouth sewn shut,

To seal the emulating smut.

Searching, searching; Chaos fused,

In pursuit of another cut.


Letters lie lost,

Piercing out a bloody-cost.

Searching, searching,…motion-faded…

Lips present a scarlet, glossed.

Shed no tear,

And mourn no wrong,

For these days continue long.

Redemptions’ voice echoes here,

Speaking out of every wrong.


Another day seen,

In an ever-frightening glean.

For unspoken words of sorrow.

Ravage the flesh unclean.

No words,

No words to find,

Within the furor of the mind.

Searching, searching, the un-heards,

For a voice of humans’-kind.

K. Aldaya, 8/2/05

Picture:  “Silenced” by JolsAriella on Deviant Art; http://jolsariella.deviantart.com/art/silenced-207287676

154. Shadows


The shadows of the night…

Those raven travailing mysteries,

Of the deaths proven contrite,

To any acceptable causalities,

In the slaying of virgin light.

(Which loyally escape in fright!)

Granting each gravestone stern,

A momentary flit of indication,

In the tranquil earth all earn,

When time meets Gods’ discretion,

And bowing, falls in lost sojourn.

O’ shadow-phantoms which be,

Present thyself to querying minds…

The dead, floating on a moonlit sea,

Which count stars each sky finds,


For ask me not how or why,

You must journey in midnights’ hush,

Tormenting dead and living nigh,

With what can be or not lush,

In Hell, on Earth, or heaven high.

Spoiled with bones and memories;

Creaks and moans in shadows wither,

Tears fall as leaves on cold fall trees,

Drowning the dead, unmoving hither.

Casts of portrayed black air,

Curse the dreaming dead,

By stomping on graves made there,

Waking and calling up from bed,

To glance with eyes, the ended care

(Visions they no longer share).

The blood-thirsty and ever tired,

Thrown with pulsed beats and motions,

Seek for what should be acquired,

In learning how to sail the oceans,

To find that sinkings are required.

Carved silhouettes ashen,

Somberly turn glances once wild,

To the tombs of times’ crash-in.

The cries of every once-held child,

In scars of graystone and sin.

O’ those black silent pictures,

Of what can soon or far-off be,

Shown in burnt coal blurs….

The internal imagery,

Of what ever-endures,

As eternal destiny.

K. Aldaya, 7/27/05

Picture:  “Reflection of Death” by Corvinerium on Deviant Art; http://corvinerium.deviantart.com/art/Reflection-Of-Death-355014597

153. A Poem


This will not be a symphony,

No chorus will be kept,

To carry on the tragedy,

Ling’ring where you once slept…

Of condensed sadnesses once wept.

This will not be sagaciously held,

As some brilliant thought,

For many more men hath first-held,

The vision of what is sought,

Through words on pages unwrought.

This will not be a masterpiece,

For humanities’ clear comprehension.

Of what drives each minds’ uncease,

Of reverent self-discoveries: one…

With which souls share to their exaction.

K. Aldaya, 7/14/05

Picture:  “Concert Given by Cardinal De La Rochefoucauld At The Argentina Theatre in Rome” by Giovanni Paolo Pannini (1747); http://fineartamerica.com/featured/concert-given-by-cardinal-de-la-rochefoucauld-at-the-argentina-theatre-in-rome-giovanni-paolo-pannini-or-panini.html

152. The Worthy Grave


You truly don’t know what the hours can bring,

The shrill stinging-winters, and fresh buds of Spring.

The seasons hastily wither on,

All entangled and used as a pawn,

In the deaths nights discernibly bring.

The graveyards are open for guests or the dead,

And isn’t that you when you sleep in your bed,

Dreaming of a consistent view,

Agreeable to aspirations in you?

Which disintegrate, with all I’ve said.

Don’t worry my plot has been worked myriad ages,

Slumbering shallow there, in ordered stages.

Tombstone reads, “Here lies the dead”,

And yes, I’m still lying here in my bed,

Citing forth head-words to pages.

You truly don’t know what the hours carry,

Floating o’er my ossuary.

I’ve bled, and bled, and bled to live;

But to ghosts, time cannot give,

Blindness to what all can see.

(So just leave your knife inside of me.)

I remember the smell of damp death and earth,

And the screaming silence of broken-birth,

Driven to solace with your purging-pain,

A blade of turmoil and chaos to the brain.

For you see?….

Your souls’ deathbed was granted as my worth.

K. Aldaya, 7/13/05

Picture:  “Feet Strapped Down in Bed” by Mary Ellen Mark: http://www.maryellenmark.com/; http://www.bulgergallery.com/dynamic/images/display/Mary_Ellen_Mark_Feet_Strapped_Down_in_Bed_1976_c1976_1858_41.jpg

151. Vital Source


Dear Father-eternal,

Please grant me but one wish….

So I may endure full,

Of strength and carnal-resolve;

A mounting, rushing, chestful.

I beg of you, please send,

A soul burning with loves’ desire,

Furtive intoxication to fend,

Off this wastelands’ turbid-gale.

Let passioned-love transcend.

I ask you, show mercy!

Kill me now if it can’t be,

For to live one more night lonely,

Is worse than any early death.

Lord, please hear my heavy plea.

I beseech you Lord,

With every drop of blood stirring,

Don’t leave me with but a sword,

To fend-off proved heart-loathing,

‘Lone marching to a grave onward.

Pardon me but one true love,

To prove the undertaker wrong,

Live out this lifetime through,

In decadently engaged vitalities,

Which, with time, more eloquently imbue.

K. Aldaya, 6/30/05

Picture: Lie to Me: Kang Ji Hwan and Yoon Eun Hye; http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/33800000/Lie-to-me-lie-to-me-korean-drama-33896470-1280-720.jpg

150. Lasting Truth


Hello all you people.

How can you not see me here,

dying, dying, dying,

From emptiness of tear?

Hello all you people.

Have none of you a heart,

beating, beating, beating,

With compassionate restart?

Hello all you people.

How is it that you can’t see?

rejected, rejected, rejected,

And abandoned souls as me?

Hello all you people.

How can you be so cruel and not,

perceive, perceive, perceive,

And seek for what should be sought?

Hello all you people.

Forget all of those things you own;

debris, debris, debris,

From materialisms’ throne.

Hello all you people,

Aren’t people more important and,

eternal, eternal, eternal?

For soon life will be no more than sand.

Hello all you people.

Hear me at last when I am gone; Only…

caring, caring, caring,

Will last beyond this fading dawn.

K. Aldaya, 6/29/05

Picture:  “For A Lost Soul” by TheFoxAndTheRaven on Deviant Art; http://www.deviantart.com/art/For-A-Lost-Soul-448992691

149. Unlovable


I’ve heard of this thing called love.

I like to believe I know how it feels,

Though know of no such love,

Carried deep and pained for me,

Though I’ve been burdened long for thee.

Hast thou seen no thing called love,

Within thy heart for me?

Yes, thou has seen no such love,

Deep in me…just loveless pains,

For without love my heart vast wanes.

What tortured passion is this love,

To show forth what it be,

And then again this thing called love,

Disappears and is not felt,

Abandoning the hopeful heart in which it dwelt.

I’ve heard of this thing called love,

I like to think I know of it well,

Though know of no such love,

Carried for me, ever by thee,

Though I’ve been burdened long in hope’s of some love from thee.

K. Aldaya, 6/28/05

Picture:  Photographer Unknown; Originally from Getty Images; http://www.zawaj.com/askbilqis/wp-content/uploads/2010/12/parental-rejection.jpg

148. Clock-Struck Annihilation

Changes are constant and held with regard,

As there’s nothing to halt them or keep them imbarred.

Daily they move to the ticks and the tocks,

Movements set in motion to the bidding of clocks.


Time is a constant reminder to all,

That life is more precious with each sun and moons’ fall.

For how quickly the hands tick the hours away,

And the world’s ever made different in the death of a day.

K. Aldaya, 6/27/05

Picture:  “The Passage of Time” by Jason Ticehurst; http://images.fineartamerica.com/images-medium-large/the-passage-of-time-jason-ticehurst.jpg

147. Black Roses

I thought if I expressed my pains,

The pain would be too great,

That all the flower, in one brief hour,

Would wither in dead-fate.

But I’ve been wrong as so often I am,

Forcing-out the inner world,

Has only made the flowers grow…steady and slow,

Into dark interpretations of my world.


Seeing there before my eyes those tinted-petals,

Swaying in a windswept field.

Shadows set free for all to see,

My mind fogged with unsettles.

I thought the black-blooms would turn,

My eyes to love its’ hue,

And grant this love to rise above,

All thoughts of life in me to view.

But I was wrong, as I’ve always been, about this too.

You cannot hide what lies inside,

To live you must show you.

To the world show all the pains,

Materialize them…they are real.

If they lie, your heart will die,

For flowers need room to reveal.

Thickets of thorns: crimson and black,

Grow ‘neath tear-drowned skies;

Swiftly slicing their way each day,

Through bones and skin to your demise.

My moonlit roses ashen and set,

Far and wide upon my face,

Have released my heart burdens of its’ part,

In fading tears to bloomings’-pace.

Flowers must be able to grow,

And show what must be seen.

Hiding deep pains…draws weep stains,

To choke burdens unseen.

So leave me my field to show,

That I can let each flower,

Grow and be for all to see,

And daily greet each new rain-shower.

K. Aldaya, 6/15/05

Picture:  “Rose Gothic” by Zefir4ik on Deviant Art; http://zefir4ik.deviantart.com/art/Rose-Gothic-144655365

146. God of Man


You say aloud you love me,

But why spoken so easily?

When in but one brief moment,

You clearly do hate me,

As nothing’s given back quite as nice as you’ve lent.

Your love’s a constant danger,

What will you do for love?

I know…you’d take out all my bad shown.

Seen evident hither,

Where you stake your cross-branding e’er ceaseless atone.

All-knowing. Malevolent.

You’ve placed your throne of judgment high,

For God’s commands to enforce.

Now aren’t you God ill-bent?

To play God o’er all you choose to love as sins’-source?

But O’ self appointed God,

I don’t care anymore. I’m tired.

Do what you want.  I give up.

I can’t e’er fear to trod!

Kill sin-flesh if you must.

Pass ’round my bloody cup.

Spread the cup to every mouth,

So they can speak too of my sins,

But remember this, King of Kings,

When blood-drips from your mouth,

A God of heaven may be listening,

And bears spotless, white wings.

K. Aldaya, 6/12/05

Picture:  “I Give Up” by VhPhoto on Deviant Art; http://vhphoto.deviantart.com/art/I-give-up-206763483

145. Freedom to Dream

The birds fly through the trees,

Enriching our eyes with each glimpse.

The freedoms we seek from birth,

Flowing on wings of fair-primps:

Feathers of nature-bound worth.

Whisper your secrets to me on air,

Creaking down stagnant-dreamers:

Trees that reach toward the heavens,

Entreating enchantment-glimmers.

From the sun of divine-leavens.


Float through the halls of Valhalla,

O’ blessed creatures, soar and deliver,

The glory-soaked emancipations,

Of souls of vast times…now a quiver;

On birds with knowledge for all nations.

Freedom’s not a gift or privilege,

Something given to only a few.

Freedom’s what every spirit born,

Through all times and every land through,

Needs to count themselves earth-born.

For just as the sun daily shines,

And the trees reach to catch its’ beams.

The birds, just as us, must seek also,

To live an existence which gleams.

And flying with wings let ago…

As all the souls who’ve come and go,

To find life is a haven of limitless dreams!

K. Aldaya, 6/11/05

Picture:  “Soar” by Nomadlens; http://www.nomadlens.com/old/index-showimage=60.php.html

144. The Canvas


I will not be still,

And void, go out without a fight.

I have stared life in the face,

And beat death in its’ eyes…

With spent love and grace.

I will not hideout,

Without an etched portrait to fill,

The white canvas sights’ place,

Into the hands of fate,

‘Til blind deaths’ erase.

I will not be still,

And blankly accept emptiness.

No seeking step nor trace,

Left to show the cut-hole,

Of deaths’ imprinted embrace,

Onto my bruised and bloody face.

K. Aldaya, 5/29/05

Picture:  Photographer Unknown; http://www.eyeshadowlipstick.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/red-lips-pale.jpg

143. The Antique Book

Same old story floats through time,

Repetitively drawn-out in your arms,

Tired. Tired. Tired.

Over and over further deepened harms.

Alone again in moment dire.


Embrace the pages refined,

Which tell of what the touch can bring,

Tired. Tired. Tired.

Of the romanced deaths of Spring.

Alone again in moment dire.

Dwelling. Moving…but only tired,

Is this story of love made dire,

From seasons’ words….fading: tired….

Of the rusted pages.

K. Aldaya, 5/28/05

Picture:  Artist Unknown; http://api.ning.com/files/E4wkf04BIyka09WytqTDdQRa27rafSq-NMCrMDgpCxXURC55GGYtrU53Z3aOpWKKJmUnlRjBeQSfNU7GQ95lzb7GTUkEEBlH/GothicBook.jpg?width=413&height=341

142. Broken Toy


Why is it when you’re near my heart becomes rigid with fear?

Your presence makes me fall back into myself with tear;

Screams descend with minds’-call.

Why is it when you’re here my life progresses disappear,

Into resonant past?

And yet I try to persevere by destroying the cast.

Why is it you appear to chaos my soul with endear?

What did you do to place the horrors of each life-year onto your aging face?

Why is it when you’re near my solitude is made severe?

–Lose everything again–

On my eyes a bloody-smear becomes a perm’nent stain.

Why is it when you’re here distant pain-memories appear?

Cannot escape them now,

Not now, or ever my dear,

For that you won’t allow!

Why is it you appear to float within the hostage-drear,

And love what you destroy?

For with murderous domineer you break your favorite toy.

K. Aldaya, 5/26/05

Picture: American McGee’s Alice 2: Madness Returns; http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m160r1FDr61qcr9a8o1_500.png

141. Heavens’ Lighthouse

Your lines congruent with the sun,

Contour into a face.

Shaping a light silhouette,

Of beauty and grace;

After the sun has long set.

Your figure dances in my heart,

And molds my empty skin,

Into a shining beacon,

Of your love akin,

To heroes of wars won.

Your soul, is to me, a lighthouse,

Shedding on open-sea,

Relief and hope to travelers,

Lost in storms that be;

From the cold-wind that stirs.


My helpless ship was tossed about,

By the waves of fortune,

Until the sunbeams from you:

Lit, and it was done,

I found a home in you.

On your shore I landed embraced,

In the warmth of safety,

Guarded by angelic-light,

A sanctuary, in lifes’ never-ceasing night.

Your beam floats in the starry-sky,

On the seashore I watch,

The clouds glisten and unveil,

Heavens’ gates a notch;

In nurt’ring surveil.

Then for a moment the night scene,

Sparkles radiantly,

The stars cascade through the black,

And form perfectly,

A resplendence without lack.

Lines etched in vast portrayal,

Of twinkling gallantry,

Spans the universes’ breadth,

And reflects on the sea,

A cast made with clouds’-breath.

There you lie upon the water,

Immersed in storms of sin,

Caring, and thou so bearing,

The pains held therein;

From your light-room sharing.

For to me, you are a beacon,

Shimm’ring upon the sea,

Lighting the dark loneliness;

Longing to love me,

And the suns’-rise express.

K. Aldaya, 5/15/05

Picture:  Artist Unknown; http://images4.fanpop.com/image/photos/21700000/Haunted-Lighthouse-after-dark-21766978-742-646.jpg

140. Unconceived Notion


How is it that you can’t see that I’m not happy here?

Contorted masking deceptions bring flowing empty tear,

From misconceived perceptions.

How is it that you can’t tell that I’m so lonely here?

I try to fit and make things work but all I know is fear,

Of what in all mens’ minds lurk.

How is it that you can’t see that I’m so often tired?

Seasick from searching ocean depths to find answers required,

To accept the flooding concepts.

How is it that you can’t tell that I’m not just like you?

Somehow we think nothing alike.

You fit with all you do,

And I’m the outcast you dislike.

How is it that you can’t see that my own world is real?

Land that believes in the spirit,

Seas made of what you feel,

And whispered voices speak it.

How is it that you can’t tell that my life’s all my own.

Seeing things you will never see.

No words on the tombstone which is etched in gold and clear to me.

K. Aldaya, 5/14/05

Picture:  Artist Unknown; http://www.wallpaperup.com/uploads/wallpapers/2013/02/04/34222/a998a12ca5e88cb5960adb820990ffbd.jpg

139. Running Circles

A big circle this world does seem.

Seemingly running back to the start….

Over and over. Again and again.

A lost fight this world does seem.

Seemingly losing then trying again…

Over and over. Again and again.


A lost cause this world does seem.

Seemingly gaining yet little found gained…

Over and over. Again and again.

A big circle this world does seem.

Seemingly running around and around,

With no firm answers to be found,

We run over and over…

again and again.

K. Aldaya, 5/11/05

Picture:  Photographer Unknown; http://favim.com/image/38066/