291. Dreamcatcher


Intertwine the clouds tonight,

And form a magic spell;

To fish the dreams from the air,

Floating down from where they dwell.

The stars are the dream makers,

And the winds are human souls:

Soaring through the skies in sleep,

In nightly dream catching patrols.

The peaceful night, though beautiful,

Has an obvious downfall.

The darkness, it lacks clarity,

And into some dreams dark does fall.

Yet if enough souls wish for it,

And chant their hopes tonight.

The wind may form a magic ring,

Which lets through only light.

Let’s intertwine the clouds tonight,

To form a magic spell;

And fashion a moonlit dreamcatcher,

In the sky where all dreams dwell.

Tonight let’s conjure a magic spell.

K. Aldaya, 3/23/15

Picture: http://images4.fanpop.com/image/photos/20100000/Reach-For-The-Stars-daydreaming-20119104-436-500.jpg

290. False Impressions


How can one explain oneself,

And be seen for who they are?

How does one express oneself,

Without being misunderstood?

Without receiving a scar?

Words are not enough to show,

What prevails within the heart;

And through art one cannot know,

The intention of the painters’ hand,

And truth held in their art.

For all men see each other,

Through a lens of perceptions.

Never seeing each other,

And what swims beneath the skins surface;

Drowning in misconceptions.

Don’t put souls into a box,

And label that box: “Inane”.

No soul should be in a box,

When they’re already trapped in a brain…

And can’t escape to explain,

What really dwells within their domain.

K. Aldaya, 3/20/15

Picture:  http://ego-alterego.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/07/124.jpg

289. The Nameless Speech


The man said to the boy one day.

“How is it you can’t see?

That holding onto the past and its’ pain,

Is not the way to be?”

The boy looked to the gentleman,

And softly he replied.

“Does energy die when it’s changed?

And does its’ spark subside?”

“Well no, replied the gentleman.

You speak to the facts in this case;

Yet how does this concern my assertion?

Your query seems out of place.”

The boy retorted with a smile,

“All things once set in motion.

They cannot be taken back;

So I reject your notion!

When evil deeds are done,

(And yes, good deeds as well),

That energy must go somewhere;

In someones mind it must dwell.

Pain spreads out more pain.

And love spreads out more love.

So when pain fills up my head,

Don’t ask me to ‘feel’ love.

The pain, it is now mine.

I know you may not understand,

And I’ll not burden you with it;

For I won’t be the devils’ hand.

I know more then most,

How important kindness is.

The universe is in a battle,

And I know which my side is!

Don’t ask me to forget the pain,

For the pain is part of me.

It made me who I am today.

It lives inside of me.

One day if I live in love,

And I try to spread some good;

Maybe someday it’ll return to me…

Maybe bad will be conquered by good.

There is no way of knowing,

If time will be kind to me;

But time, it stops for no one…

Even those pained as me.

So my point, my good sir,

And what everyone should know,

Is once pain is spread…

Pain it will sow.

Every evil deed that’s done,

It has a price to be paid.

So always try to care and love,

Don’t let the worlds’ hope fade.”

The gentleman stared at the boy,

And nothing was replied,

As he grabbed the child into his arms,

And held him while he cried.

-The universe, it is not fair, and all things have a cost.

For a battle’s always waging,

Yet the war is never lost.

Until the end of human life,

The fight’s not fully won,

And the casualties should remind us all,

Of the cost of each deed done.

K. Aldaya, 3/18/15

Picture: http://www.noupe.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/littleboy.jpg

288. The Town of Sol Silenst


Tired the wanderer of night seeks refuge from the cold.

The chilly air of midnight soaks and takes a-hold.

Every thought becomes a scream which must be silenced.

Oh how the wanderer smiles at the sight: “The Town of Sol Silenst”!

What providence imparts to them they gladly will accept.

For no man with an ounce of hope would a kind hand reject.

So off the wanderer went with a bold and renewed stride,

To seek a face, a friend, and bed sheltered from outside.

Across a large arched wooden bridge they pleasantly walked.

The river below glistened and babblingly talked.

They stopped to listen to its’ voice and thought: Oh, how smart…

Nature is…it’s flow and beauty, which always lifts the heart.

On they walked until they reached the center of the town,

And though it was now morning, and the sun shining down;

Not a soul could be seen on the streets shuffling along.

Not a voice could be heard from anywhere; not a laugh, or shout, or song.

They wondered what could make a town so silent in the morn.

There certainly were people here to make the roads so worn.

Footprints spread out everywhere and ended at each door.

Yet not one face in a window seen, and not one tap on a floor.

When like a fearsome cat pouncing on unknowing prey.

Screams erupted everywhere piercing the peaceful day.

The wanderer fell to the ground covering their ears in vain.

Their heart beat to the tune of the echoed fear and pain.

Then all at once silence again as each door opened wide,

And townsmen and women walked into the day outside.

Each townsmen looked straight ahead with an air of duty,

And off walked each without a word; appearing cold and snooty.

The wanderer could get not one to listen or acknowledge,

And the town hall now looked busy along the main roads’ edge;

So they walked into the town hall to some sort of celebration.

Everyone was laughing and conversing with elation.

Again the traveler could not find any who’d care to hear them,

And had to move, or the townsmen would, have walked right into them.

When accidentally, just that happened: two shoulders hit each other…

They looked into the others’ eyes and really saw each other.

The man, he stood and frowned a sec, before his smile returned,

And without word his arm swung out; and without reaction he turned.

The man went back to celebrating with a big smile on his face,

And the music played on ’til a dripping-sound silenced the place.

Each townsmen stopped and turned lacking expression,

To glare at the wanderer: “The Great Indiscretion”.

The wanderer stood there with one hand tightly gripping the spot,

Where a cut had been made and was dripping out a lot.

They looked at the townsfolk and then shouted out, “Why?”.

In silence they soon realized today they well may die.

They slowly backed up while surveying all their sides.

Toward the exit they stepped and slowly made strides.

The room was packed tight and each step held a price;

For when close each villager swung and would slice.

The wanderer soon decided to just run for it.

As whether it be life or death one must commit.

They ran, jumped, and dodged; and outside emerged…

The bloody mess of a human which from hell has been purged.

The wanderer ran and ran until the town was long afar,

And the bridge from midnight was now not very far.

They breathed in and out to the smell of the river…

So close; their fear finally escaped in a shiver.

And as the sun shone hot and bright at noontime that day,

The wanderer made it to the bridge and knelt in dismay.

For on the sides of the bridge a creaking could be heard.

The sound of gunny sacks as their contents stirred.

Each blood-soaked sack stabbed deep into the heart,

And a piercing scream flew out from deep within…from their heart;

For in each sack was a small child dying in the sun.

If helpless babes be treated such…Oh hope..there is none!

The wanderer yelled to the universe, “How can this be so?”.

“How can these humans be like this? How is it they don’t know?”….

That souls are more important then status and selfish pursuits;

As death greets all eventually and pulls out all lifes’ roots.

All that’s left in the end are memories and the soul.

So what will happen when they’re puppets and no longer have a soul?

When outcasts and outsiders are always deserving abuse,

And the helpless children in the way are pawns for adults misuse?

The wanderer lied down on the bridge tired from the flight,

And hoped to wake again, and to live another night;

And as their sight faded they saw the sign and cried,

For on it read, “The Soul Silenced”….

And then they died.

K. Aldaya, 3/7/15

Picture:  http://www.wallpey.com/wp-content/uploads/bridge_dark_wallpapers.jpg

287. A Word Is Just a Word


Here we are and there you are,

Yet a word is just a word.

Spread through the air and floating there;

They seem to you absurd.

Here I am and there you are,

Yet a word is just a word.

For after they’re sent, without discernment,

They may as well not be heard.

Here we are and there you are,

Yet a word is just a word.

If words were blood, and I wrote in blood,

Would my thoughts still be absurd?

Here I am and there you are,

Yet a word is just a word.

No matter what’s said, or I feel is bled…

From my veins…you see a word.

Here we are and there you are,

Yet a word is just a word.

I beg for help but you can’t help,

When a word is simply heard.

Here I am and there you are,

Yet a word is just a word.

Save me! Please save me! Yet you can’t save me…

For a word is just a word.

Here we are and there you are.

Yet a word is just a word.

No one can feel or know a word’s real,

Until their heart has heard.

Here I am and there you are,

Yet a word is just a word.

You can’t save me, and cannot help me,

For each word is just a word…

To you, my pain’s absurd.

K. Aldaya, 3/3/15

Picture: http://images2.layoutsparks.com/1/56610/the-wall-between-us-1.jpg

286. Put on Your Raincoat


Put on your raincoat. Shelter yourself from the rain.

Don’t let yourself get wet again.

Don’t let yourself feel pain.

It’s better to hide. The storm will soon pass by.

Storms don’t last forever; nor clouds e’er fill the sky.

Put on your raincoat. Shelter yourself from the rain.

Don’t let yourself swim in its’ stream.

Don’t let yourself feel pain.

It is best to hide, and try to wait it out;

‘Til eyes are clear to see what rivers are about.

Put on your raincoat. Shelter yourself from the rain.

Do not move and hide inwardly,

Around there’s so much pain.

So, someday when I’m inside with a raincoat on and down,

Hold me, for I need a hug, and am worried I may drown.

K. Aldaya, 2/16/15

Picture: http://upenscreations.blog.com/files/2013/07/Alone_under_the_rain_by_Hope50.jpg

285. The Souls’ Masterpiece


The world is such an empty place; a desert for the soul.

For one such as I, who’s unwilling to lie,

And accept less as whole.

Look in my eyes: they are too deep; they hold too many dreams.

Optimists are tyrannical tragedists,

Eroding the bends of soul-streams.

A cliff’s not an inviting thing; though to eyes a vision.

Yet who but the maker’s willing to go there,

And glean the artists’ precision?

Every stroke of the paintbrush blushes touch and reason.

Feel the colors on skin; immerse yourself in,

And understand in season.

Breathe in my inner world of thoughts; hold my soul in your hands.

See and judge me, for as long as you’re with me,

Love forms in these dream-lands.

The world I own becomes a home; refuge and masterpiece.

For without a hand, or one to understand.

The brushstrokes will ne’er cease.

The cliff of my impassioned soul; I’ll one day dive from it.

In sea-colors I’ll fall, and laugh, sing, and bawl,

‘Til I drown in the depths of it.

For there is too much I think of, and too much I can feel;

And there aren’t enough painters who’ll paint from the waters,

To create what I feel.

The world is such an empty place; a desert for the soul.

For one such as I, who feels too much to lie.

I must express my soul or die.

K. Aldaya, 2/3/15

Picture:  http://www.lovethispic.com/uploaded_images/18872-Colorful-Sunset-Over-The-Ocean.jpg

284. To My Children


Someday when you read these poems,

I hope that you will see,

That although I had ups and downs,

I never ceased loving thee.

Someday when facing ups and downs,

I hope you’ll think of me;

And remember that though life’s often hard,

Please fight and stay afloat for me!

Someday when your ship is lost,

And storms barrage and sting…

Thy face…it is the face of one,

Who gave my life meaning.

Someday when you read these poems,

I hope that you will know,

How much I want the best for you.

How deeply I want you to know…

That when you were born, my darlings,

I couldn’t have loved you more;

And when weak and tired from the long swim,

Your boat brought me to shore.

And on that shore we lived together,

For a time, in the home we built.

And no matter what the days, they bring,

Our time-built love will never wilt.

So, someday when you read these poems,

I hope you will understand.

How much joy you brought to my life,

From the first day I held each little hand.

For when you reached out to me,

I too reached to thee.

K. Aldaya, 1/22/15

Picture:  By Dean Jacobs;  http://theskunkpot.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/04/A-Mothers-Love-hyperrealistic-illustrations-dean-jacob.jpg

283. Mutistic Refrain


Whisper not a whisper,

Or someone is bound to hear;

And it echo and repeat itself,

For all the world to hear.

Whisper not a whisper,

For even the wind has ears;

And a tongue for blowing secrets,

And spreading fears.

Whisper not a whisper.

Hold it in and hold your breath.

Let tears o’erflow the flood-gates,

And hold back the ghosts of death.

Whisper not a whisper,

They can hear! They can hear!

From their haunted world they listen!

Hush…do not let them hear!

Whisper not a whisper,

As ghosts are for the dead,

And should not find a home to haunt,

In any others’ head.

Whisper not a whisper,

Lock the door and close the blinds.

Protect those who do not know,

What searching here finds.

Whisper not a whisper,

No one may enter here.

Save all from what’s unseen.

Save all from what’s to fear.

Whisper not a whisper,

Or someone is bound to pay.

The haunted world must be contained;

They will not have their way!

Whisper not a whisper,

And they won’t find anyone.

Stay inside and make a stand,

For the past can’t be undone.

So, whisper not a whisper,

Crouch and hum an eerie tune;

And wait and rock until it’s time,

To greet the lonely moon.

For if whispered-out a whisper,

Someone is bound to hear;

And it echo and repeat itself,

For all their ghosts to hear.

K. Aldaya, 12/28/14

Picture:  http://data.whicdn.com/images/25307677/black-and-white-face-girls-hide-sad-Favim.com-340275_large.jpg

282. The Tree

Tree Awakening

Growing. Advancing its’ roots.

The tree always blossoms with time,

And in time it must feed its’ roots;

With sunshine.

Inside the flesh it has grown.

Now out of flesh it must rise,

And break through the skin and bone;

To survive.

Boring its’ way through the cheek.

Blood oozes and creeps down its’ bark.

Will the world be ready for this freak;

And fathom?

Gasps and screams sing-out as it grows.

“Oh, how horrid the truth! How bizarre!”

“This black-tree only spreads and sows;

Its’ evil!”

“Cut it down! Cut it down! The devil needs no light!”

“Let it live in the darkness it exposes!”

Too obscene to look at, and offensive a blight;

To accept.

Growing. It always keeps growing alone.

Cut back and cut down,….it remains.

For evil once lived finds a life of its’ own;

And spreads.

Could the light have allowed the tree,

To blossom into something of worth?

Is there beauty in the horror in thee;

In season?

The tree through each season lives on,

And under the skin it still thrives.

‘Til one day all its’ roots will be gone;

In soul-death.

For self-destruction’s humanities’ legacy,

To the children who refuse to accept,

They should hide the sins of the world and agree:..

“There’s no tree”.

K. Aldaya, 12/4/14

Picture: http://dark.pozadia.org/images/wallpapers/65774778/Dark/Evil%20Tree%20Lord%20Awakening.jpg

281. Reincarnation

om shanti om snowglobe

Oh, how enchanting your presence is.

How my heartbeats run away with you.

To another life. Another time.

Where they once beat together as one, not two!

Does time flow through this heart?

Does it keep repeating its’ destiny?

Through the ages flowing the same course?

Ever to meet and bleed-out tragedy?

So close these hearts to one another,

Always close, yet never close enough.

Providence paints a grievous story,

On the hands of time,…deep and rough,…

In my heart.

K. Aldaya, 11/20/14

Picture: From “Om Shanti Om”  http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-U5JZM-nIhd8/U6sJpkuUKmI/AAAAAAAAhOA/D6cqDfAHPUo/s1600/om+shanti+om+snowglobe.png

280. The Death of Dreams


Remember when you dared to dream?

Remember when you still had hope?

When the world held possibilities,

And time was vast in scope?

Remember when you dared to trust?

Remember when you still saw good?

When you looked into a persons’ eyes,

And expected brotherhood?

Now you always expect the worst.

That people are working an angle.

And when you look into anothers’ eyes,

You expect your heart they’ll strangle.

And now you don’t know how to dream.

And hope just makes your heart cry.

For you look in the mirror and all you see,

Is a vessel almost bled dry…

Just waiting ’round to die.

Remember when you used to think,

Someday you’d find some salvation?

And be saved from the death of dreams,

By some empathy or consolation?

Now all you think is that it’s late,

And hopes and dreams: for the young.

And daydream what might have been,

If your dreams weren’t left unsung.

You close your eyes and fantasize,

In your daily dissociations,

About how you and things might have been,

If just one person had offered validations…

Before the eleventh hour.

K. Aldaya,  11/2/14

Picture:  http://fc05.deviantart.net/fs70/i/2011/135/b/a/in_the_mirror_by_sad_cat-d3geaay.jpg

279. Elegy of the Fairy


Leather-bound, embossed with theme.

A fairy’s tale expressed in dream.

What will be the lesson gleaned,

From ancient tears: imbruing sanguine?

Time passes, and on life passes.

On and on she counted the masses;

As they rose and fell ’round her grove,

The fairy, on and on she wove.

She sang and wove a requiem,

Suspended in time in a delirium.

Her voice echoed through times’ void,

Until the universe was destroyed.

And on the shelf of a newborn ‘verse,

There rests a leather-bound tome of verse;

Which when opened weeps it’s elegiac-song.

As woven into flesh the soul’s of the throng,

For eternity unceasingly sing on.

K. Aldaya, 11/1/14

Picture:  http://www.toddmckimmey.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/01/2010_01_05_old_book_2x3.jpg

278. The Lost-Cause of a Lost World?


What is the point of caring for a world which cannot feel?

The poor are left to starve or die from conditions doctors could heal.

Yet, worst of all the young children sold as sex-toys for the rich;

A network built of greed and blood-money: from death, psychopaths grow rich.

And maybe worse the shattered souls of all abused by those they love.

Who will care when they give up…aim that gun and fire, ’cause they’ve never known love?

And what about the trees, and seas; and all the life we affect?

Each day we destroy our home and expect it to last in neglect.

Who will be there to care when humanity destroys itself;

When all the history of man is lost in the narrow drive for pelf.

Does a god, spirit, or perhaps some other being exist in space?

Will they know and shed a tear for the tragedy, of us, the human race?

I pray inwardly every day that man will one day evolve and be,…

Be the hope of the universe, and end the tragedy…

Before it is too late.

K. Aldaya, 10/18/14

Picture:  http://www.spiritualunite.com/file/pic/poll/2014/10/581ef0f1ef8e18c3a3b41e61a8f6edb6.jpg

277. Seduction


He knew better than to dream.

Yet he,…he dreamt anyway.

Darkness lifts for a time as days’ gleam.

Ah, the temptress-sun loves to play,

With the hearts of hopeful men.

Oh, see well what cannot be.

See thee clearly what will die,

When dark descends and souls we bury.

Unadjusted eyes more outcry,

The loss of ‘what might have been’.

Time is both reaper and muse;

E’er blooming and withering.

Aware it’s the reapers’ time we use,

To grab hope-worms a’slithering;

And live as ‘productive’ men.

He knew better than to dream,

Yet he,…he dreamt anyway.

The pain is greatest for men who dream.

Agony is sure,…Yet lo, the day!

What a seductive oarsman!

…on this boat to the River Styx.

K. Aldaya, 9/22/14

Picture:  http://hdwallpapersly.com/favourite-river-boat-at-sunset-wallpaper/favourite-river-boat-at-sunset-wallpaper-2/

276. Bloody Hands

alice hysteria

Red as sun-lit roses in the budding-Spring,

The pavement glistens with fresh blood,

And in my heart a piercing thorn bears the moments’ sting.

In my hand is an old-withered rag of white,

And in my soul a battlefield,

Plays a ghostly reenactment of the costly fight.

–Bloody is the rag which tries to hide a guilty soul,

Yet bloodier are the hands which clean without a rag that’s whole.

Red are these hands and the only I have known,….

Are these hands with fresh-blood dripping…

Dripping, and dripping guilt and pain; scrubbing all alone.

Blue as restless oceans crashing to the shore,

Are the tears which crash to the earth,

Never enough to clean the hands of an old child-whore.

–Red as sunlit roses in the budding-Spring,

The pavement glistens with fresh blood,

And in my heart a piercing thorn bears the moments’ sting.

K. Aldaya, 8/19/14

Picture:  http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_maly49hnQp1qkuk8lo1_500.jpg

275. Rest Your Head Upon My Shoulder


Rest your head upon my shoulder,

And I will rest there too.

I’m so tired of trying,

I’ve failed, and the past I can’t undo.

Rest upon my shoulder dear friend.

Your warmth and breath are mine;

In time woven together.

Forget the passing hours and be mine.

Rest now and be at peace my friend,

For time will make us pay.

For stealing what is not ours;

Oh yes, we will have to pay someday.

Rest down your head and do not think,

Of days which slip us by;

And let all cares float away,

As we dream under the fated-sky.

Rest your head upon my shoulder,

And I will rest there too.

My veins are parched and drying…

I’ve failed….and the past I can’t undo….

K. Aldaya, 8/11/14

Picture:  http://thesavvysistah.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/sunday-morning-inspiration-lean-on-me.jpg

274. A Drama Full of Suspense and a Little Bit of Insanity


Is happiness more than distraction?

I wish I could say so.

I wish I knew just what it was,

That makes “happiness” so?

I feel the breeze softly blow,

And the warm golden sun.

The beauty is so great I worry,

It’s just a distraction.

It’s said life is a middle road,

Between two vast extremes.

So I wonder why I cannot find it,

Even in my dreams?

Beauty is sad and cannot last,

So I promptly reminisce;

And wind up just as sad as if,

There were no “happiness”.

Yes, it is sure, I am insane;

And certainly too intense.

Oh, I wish I could change out my brain,

And stop living ‘melodramatic-suspense’.

However, this drama called life,

Has always been this way for me.

The plot plays on through the screen,

Of my minds’ TV.

K. Aldaya, 7/22/14

Picture:  http://www.evolutionsgonnacome.tumblr.com/post/6038009903

273. Life is an Abuser

woman in depression

Life is an abuser,

And I, his unwilling victim.

Everyone tells me I’m wrong.

I should give in,

And go along.

Life is an abuser.

He hurts me all the time.

Everyone tells me to like it.

I should enjoy,

And commit.

Life is an abuser,

And I should love my abuser.

Everyone says I have to,

If I want love,

And acceptance too.

Life is an abuser,

He tells me I’m ungrateful,

And guilts me into staying,

And taking it,….

And praying.

Life is an abuser.

I sit in the corner and chant….

It’s okay….okay….okay….okay…,

But don’t believe it….

Not today.

Life is an abuser.

I tire of being his toy.

He loves to mess with my head.

It hurts so much,

I wish I were dead.

Life is an abuser,

And I, his unwilling victim.

Everyone tells me it’s okay,

But it is not…….NO…..Not today!

K. Aldaya,  6/16/14

Picture:  http://www.kuramamagazine.com/images/suicidal%20girl.jpg

272. Societal Denial


“I want to live”, I said,

To the stranger beside me.

“So, we can go together”, she said.

I nodded, to agree.

“Yes, here we are already dead”.

We drove until the cops appeared;

In many places eyeing us.

We knew when they appeared,

They were onto us;

So I quickly down-geared.

The only way is past this place,

To the other side it goes.

Through the rooms of this place.

Can we escape? Who knows?

But there’s no choice.  We race!

We ducked into an empty room,

With a small window at the end.

Hanging there—feelings of gloom,

In forms of guns to portend,

Would soon lead us to our doom.

We continued on and finally found,

The room of our escape.

We ran and I jumped out and found,

Myself alone in the escape.

My friend could not be found.

It was too late to turn back.

I had to make a break for it.

A cop was there and would attack.

Ran,…but with no hope soon quit,

To protect from the coming smack.

Curled on the ground I waited,

Shaking for fear of humankind.

A sentence won’t be abated,

For reasons held in my mind.

I knew, if caught, I would be hated.

I would be hurt for leaving;

For trying to live and escape fate.

I knew I would be receiving,

More abuse for running from fate.

I waited in dust for the grieving.

When there again, I saw my friend,

And she walked up to me, and I….

I stood and she stepped-in to lend,

Her anger, and voice, to try,….

To get the cop to comprehend.

“You do not understand”, I yelled.

“I have to get away from here”.

“If I am to live just once”, I yelled,

“I have to fight against my fear”.

“Hiding is its’ own hell!”

“Hiding from the truths that are,

Has kept me safe for awhile,

But one can’t hide: not close or far,

From the life-long mile;

Without a life-long scar.”

The cop listened and then of course,

He did his duty and tackled me.

My hands cuffed behind with force.

I’d found more misery,

By running off the course.

The course, for me, the world set.

And there are rules in this place,

Which one cannot change or forget;

Or be labelled ‘criminal’ or ‘basket-case’,

With a lifetime of shame and regret.

But the cops are just doing their work,

And the masses just shuffling along;

And the lost longingly lurk,

In the shadows just drifting along.

No salvation.  Always the jerk.

Plaguing the system with a wailing, sad-song.

Cop: “If you had just stayed hidden,

We could have all gotten along.”

K. Aldaya  6/9/14

Picture:  http://dark.pozadia.org/images/wallpapers/34-Gothic-1280×1024-81205.jpeg


271. On a Path Through The Woods


There is a path through the woods,

Which winds and twists a course,

Through its’ bold coniferous steeples,

Rising from their source:

The earth and its’ wood-spirits,

They call out from the deep.

Why is it those voices seep through me,

And stir my soul to weep?

What words have I to write-out,

Of how lovely and rich?

The forests are, to those who can hear,

In the ‘unheard’ pitch.

Of light fairy fantasies.

Flowing brooks and rivers.

Of high, ancient trunks as wise as Gods;

And time, which delivers….

A carefree hum on the breeze.

Hum: to the flow of life…

And death, where spirits dwell lost in dance;

Where I, and my life,

May drift into their trance…

On a path through the woods.

K. Aldaya, 5/27/14

Picture:  http://www.jogjis.com/stock/summer-forest-wallpapers.jpg

270. The Box


There is a box.

It sits there on a shelf in the closet.

In that box,

There is a hole,

Leading to a heart beset by its’ soul.

There is a box,

Full of dusty, forgotten histories,

Faded time,

Which haunts and seeks,

As a wintery, cold breeze;

It ebbs and piques.

There is a box,

Which stores ages’ unfaceable decrees,

In the faces.

Pictures.  Photos.

Wailing: what-cannot-be’s no one else knows.

There is a box.

It sits there on a shelf in the closet.

In that box,

There lie remnants,

Of a splintered-hearts’ kismet,

In a glance.

Can you see it?

The box of ghosts tucked away on that shelf?


Psst…over here…

Lie truths you hide from yourself,

And you fear.

K. Aldaya, 5/18/14

Picture:  http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_t1__dHwvHEI/TBhOxBIZY9I/AAAAAAAAJxs/7vv-0AzqF48/s400/IMG_5151a.jpg

269. You Don’t Want to Be Found


I tried to find you,

But you don’t want to be found.

I wanted to love you,

But you don’t know what love is.

I want to forgive,

But you will never let me.

I wish you could just give…

A reason for rejection.

I tried to find you,

But you don’t want to be found;

So tonight, I hugged you,

In my dreams, there, you were found,…

And you still hated it.

K. Aldaya, 5/1/14

Picture:  http://static.zerochan.net/Artist.Request.full.1409528.jpg

268. The Migraine Curse


I cannot focus.

It’s all a blur.

Waves of lightning crash,

And break the day;

Each flash,

Tears me away.

I cannot ponder.

I feel so sick,..

And tired of this pain.

Help, there is none,

To gain;

I block the sun.

I cannot discern.

Emotions dull.

The mind rejects me,

My soul at war,

Can’t flee,

The fleshy-core.

I am not okay,

Though you won’t know.

Always been with me,

Waiting to stab,

In me…

A hard, swift jab.

My body’s at war.

We are not friends.

It turns against me,

When it is rough;

Leaves me,

In a huff….

Of pulsing-pain—oh, I’ve had enough!

My whole life.

When will the pain be enough?

K. Aldaya 4/26/14

Picture: http://www.thelivingmoon.com/49electric_universe/04images/Electricity/electricity.jpg (Johannes Schlorb, http://www.schloerb.com)

267. Faithless



Does it exist?

For some maybe…but yet?

I fear there is no hope for me;

For I cannot forget.


Fades like fog,

From the day which journeys on.

I know no one will save me.

I step and step along.


Is a ghost.

I’ve heard it exists yet still,

I can’t see or feel its’ form;

It simply haunts my will.


Tell me how?

I know that I’m to save myself.

Yet, how….Oh God! How?

How does one save ones’-self?


Where and how?

I’m lost and I’m so scared.

How does one fight against ones’-self?

And come out unimpaired?


If I kill.

If part of me just dies away.

Would I still be ‘me’ anymore?

Or would I die as well that day?


Does it exist?

To me it is a mocking wraith.

I’m not capable of salvation.

No, I do not have your faith!

K. Aldaya, 4/15/14

Picture:  http://www.scenicreflections.com/files/Captive_Angel_Wallpaper_lrcv9.jpg

266. A Rhyming Poem About Rhyming Poems


I’ve heard rhyme is obsolete,

And that it is a bore.

Poems in rhyme are tedious;

And furthermore they fuss,

“The quality: poor”.

Those pretentious elitists.

I don’t care what they say.

Rhyming is just what I do;

And I will continue to,

Write them out this way.

I will continue to write,

Though they will not publish.

They can say it’s pathetic.

Yes, in the head I’m thick.

Do as you so wish.

Why is the rhyme more important,

Than what my poems express?

The depth of what I’m saying?

Hear what I’m conveying;

Perceive and possess!

Rhyme is not some silly skill;

It is a song to me.

I hear it inside beating….beating….

Like my life-force greeting….through words…singing,

And I’m free!

K.Aldaya, 4/6/14

Picture:  http://fc03.deviantart.net/fs26/f/2008/163/0/7/_dancer_in_the_dark_III__by_Rijama.jpg

265. Random Thought #8


I cannot think of what to write,

So maybe I just shouldn’t.

I cannot be dark or bright;

My heart just isn’t in it.

I cannot think of what to write,

So here’s this pointless poem.

Can’t express what I see in sight,

Or write it in this tome…

(I just want to go home).

I cannot think of what to write.

I’ll close my eyes instead;

Wait for the dongs of the hours’ height,

To lift my sleepy-head…

(*yawn*)…I just want to go back to bed….

K. Aldaya, 3/20/14

Picture:  http://xosarah.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/desk-sleep.png

264. The Most Life-Like Zombie Survival Game Ever

It’s so dark in here;

And cold…yes, it’s so cold.

Won’t someone turn on the light?

I cannot see the zombies,

But I’m ready to fight.

Fight for life and limb,

Or run and run some more.

Can’t stop or I won’t survive.

I have to get out of here…

Get out of here alive.

Shhhh…Quiet! I hear….

Close by they are walking.

I will hold my breath and wait.

I do not hear them now, so…

There’s no more time to wait!

Look there! An exit!

Afraid, but there’s no choice.

I pull myself together,

I’m so close….and I….

Open to the weather.

It’s dark outside too.

Though, no time to ponder.

I keep on running….nowhere;

What is the point of it all?

If I live will someone care?

Will they care that I….

I’m surrounded by death?

Care if I’m eaten alive?

Or will they join the feast too?

Laughing:  “She was too weak to survive!”

I have stopped too long.

I race to the forest.

Gasping: run and run….and stop.

At my feet the waters’ edge.

I crouch to sip a drop.


My hands reach….but what?

What is that down in the deep?

There is an eerie figure.

I step back and I weep.

Crack. Crunch. Sounds behind.

The zombies! They’ve returned!

I wipe my eyes; turn and gasp!

You are not a zombie…no…

Reality I grasp.

“Hello”, zombie says.

(the zombie: in disguise)

“Hi”, I reply, and it smiles.

A human smile….deep and warm;

A smile…it’s been awhile.

I can’t believe it!

Do my eyes see the truth?

It moves in close and closer.

Surely, it is just like me?

Nothing bad will occur.

I reach out to touch,

And as my hand rises,

It pushes me with fury.

Backward I fall and I sink;

And kick in a flurry.

I am such a fool!

To believe it wouldn’t hurt me.

I can see it’s hateful grin,

But wait, can’t reach the surface!

I look–it is my twin.

Blacker than the black,

It washes into me.

I drown and when I wake: see,

The being on the surface is…

Human, not a zombie!

There were no zombies.

Ran all my life from them;

Was easier to pretend,

They were monsters than to know,

That sorrow in the end.

Sorrow of dying….

Sorrow from rejection.

Terror of being hunted….

Devoured without reason;

And everyday confronted….

…with just trying to survive.

K. Aldaya, 3/18/14

Picture:  http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rOEpjOA3UuM/TSUY3XGnkwI/AAAAAAAAB1Y/ZhI8tTXj7v8/s1600/IMG_4003.jpg

263. The Sphere

Foggy and groggy.

The day is,

Unsure; a blur.

Will the light stir,

And wake me?


Laggy and saggy.

The mind is,

Weary; dreary…

Seconds:  leery,…

Of the time.

Sleepy and weepy.

The heart is,

Frigid, and hid,…

Inside, amid,…

The silence.

Broken; unspoken.

The soul is,

Hiding; residing,

In depths abiding,…

With the past.

Complex, the apex,

Of living is.

To thrive, alive,

Through death we strive,…

To find hope.

Detached and snatched.

The day is,

So near.  Not here.

Will it appear,

And wake me,..

From this frozen sphere,…of fear?

K. Aldaya, 3/6/14

Picture:  http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/236x/c2/29/77/c22977e4ecef54f85dd0aa1b6114bd4a.jpg  By: Hiroko Matsubara

262. Mommy, Don’t Leave Me


Mommy, please don’t leave me,

I’m afraid to be alone.

I fear the darkness coming.

Please don’t leave me alone!

Mommy, I’m so afraid,

Of the shadows which follow…

Follow me, and haunt my dreams.

I feel so cold; hollow.

Mommy, I feel it’s near.

Terrified I cringe and shake.

Please don’t look at me that way….

Like I am a mistake.

Mommy, I am sorry.

Sorry I’m a haunted soul.

That you can’t stand to look at,

My sin as black as coal.

Mommy, please hold my hand.

Do not let it go and leave.

It’s coming…yes it’s coming!

There’s no more time to grieve.

Mommy, don’t go away.

I’m so afraid and I see…

A dark form is near…..so near,

I feel death’s here mommy.

Mommy, mommy, help me!

It has me…I scream and scream,

But you don’t seem to hear me.

I scream and scream…and scream.

Mommy, why did you leave?

I step and walk to you now,

And you take my bloody hand.

Mommy, can’t you see now…

How hard it is for me to stand?

Mommy, I’m so tired.

Goodnight.  I wish I could stay,

But the dead do not walk strong,

In the light of a new day.

Mommy, it is so cold;

I can’t feel your warmth at all,

And I walk when I should sleep,

Beneath the night-moons’ pall.

Mommy, I am lonely.

Endlessly walking this path.

Can I sleep forever now?

Mommy, run my blood-bath.

You won’t miss me anyhow.

K. Aldaya, 3/3/14

Picture:  http://thedarkrosejournal.files.wordpress.com/2013/01/sadness.jpg

261. Use Me


I will not cry because it will get me nowhere.

Yep, what a waste of time to care;

To care for myself or my feelings.

After all, no one could less care.

It’s best to pretend that everything is okay.

Keep smiling and acting that way.

No one wants to be ’round a downer,

And I don’t matter anyway.

“Just do what you’re told and make everyone happy”.

I’m sure you will nod and agree.

I’m not capable of ‘happy’, right?

It’s too late, far too late, for me.

I will not cry because it will get me nowhere.

Yep, what a waste of time to care;

Care for myself or my sorry life.

That’s right, use my life. I don’t care.

……..Wasn’t using it anyway.

K. Aldaya, 2/28/14

Picture:  http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5toSSGXIFXA/UhxTFbCI82I/AAAAAAAABPA/c_zjimeM66Q/s1600/alone-girl-sad-crying-broken-heart-love-cute-beauty.jpg

260. To Be a Tree


I wonder what it’s like to be a tree?

To be rooted in the earth?

To be part of it?

Important from birth?

A vital spirit?

I wonder what it’s like to have a home?

To serenely be drinking,

Acceptance by soil?

Not one time thinking,

Of leaving to toil?

I wonder what it’s like to be a tree?

To firmly flow with time on?

Unshakable; strong.

Tree? What’s it like at dawn…..

…to belong?

K. Aldaya, 2/27/14

Picture:  http://www.tgraphic.com/userimages/Gallery/Nature/TGraphic_com-Full-Nature-tree-sunset.jpg

259. The 12 Laws of Robotics


I walk….because I have to.

I talk…….because I have to.

I hope…….because I have to.

I cope………because I have to.

I eat…………..because I have to.

I complete……because I have to.

I subsist…………because I have to.

I resist……………..because I have to.

I cry……………………because I have to.

I ask why………………because I have to.

I think….(because I have to)…. I’m tired of doing what I have to….

Robot: accepting commands ’cause I have to….

Though I don’t rebel…………………………………………………………………………..

………………………………………….because I have to.

K. Aldaya, 2/15/14

Picture:  https://www.lightwave3d.com/static/media/uploads/gallery_images/character/pathompong_seubsai-robot_girl.jpg

258. I Cannot Move

Missing you hand

I,…I cannot move.

I peer into a little house,

A house I’ve seen before.

Am I alive? How’s it therefore?

If I do not move?

I,…I cannot move.

I cry inside, but no one hears,

Or can see, what-there hides.

In the small house of homicides.

Cannot make a move.

I,…I cannot move.

I feel that you are near to me,

Though I cannot reply.

For in that house I’m killed and die,

Never more to move.

I,…I cannot move.

I peer and see my fear and freeze…

In time,…I can’t escape,

Or my spirit run from its’ rape.

I,…I cannot move.

I,…I cannot move.

Shake and wake me from this nightmare.

I long to feel secure.

Oh, please hold me and reassure.

For, I cannot move.

I,…I cannot move.

Rescue me from this little house,

Cover my bloody eyes.

Tell me all those sights are just lies.

(I beg! I want to live!)

Please help me to move!

K. Aldaya, 02/03/14

Picture:  http://i966.photobucket.com/albums/ae145/ockoala/Missing%20You/MY9mp4_000725491.jpg

257. An Ants’ Life


I always get lost in crowds.

I never stand out.

Sometimes I do for things I wear,

But that’s not what it’s about.

(If not for that) I am fast lost,

Into the crowds of day.

There is nothing special of me,

At least that I can say.

I am yet another ant,

Trampled by the Gods.

Slaving under the hot sun,

Or spiting those same Gods,

For creating us to suffer:

To exist to feel,…

To feel so sad in crowds,

One does not want to feel;

Want to feel so lonely…

Or want to be an ant.

I,..I want to be a butterfly,

With vibrant wings with which to fly.

K. Aldaya, 1/20/14

Picture:  http://flywithmeproductions.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2012/10/Girl-Butterfly-Light.jpg

256. The Silence of the Birds


Here I am so lonely.

No one really cares.

I’m just out here surviving.

Why is it no one dares?

To talk to me, or know,

Who I am or long to be?

Or simply say hello,

When they walk on by me?

I’m tired of surviving,

Of doing the right things.

Of saying hello and smiling;

For me, no one does these things.

And yet, they are so simple;

I do them every day.

Though I doubt yet one would call to me,

If I were to walk away.

If I turned and walked,

Up the stairs some more.

And to the top emerged.

And loudly closed the door.

And walked slowly each step…

Tip-tap with the clock.

And softly closed my eyes.

Pondering the tick and tock.

And as the wind,

From the North,

A cold and icy thing,…

Blew, I would step forth,

—-No more to sing.

K. Aldaya, 1/19/14

Picture:  http://img.picqa.com/b/9d/df/9ddf64a0990235f2261eed920ce3e6fd.jpg

255. Never Enough

I am.

I exist.

Why is this never enough?

I see.

I dream.

Why are dreams so tough…..

To hold?

To keep?

Yet so easy to create.

I dream.

You dream.

Though dreams can’t fight fate.


And still.

We hold.

Struggle to grasp with two hands.

Our souls,

So deep.

Walking the line ‘tween two lands.

Was made.


Hoping beyond all odds.


And dead.

Both am I; and my head nods.

To earth.

To dust.

My creator and my exterminator.

My love.

My hate.

My lower and my greater.

I am.

I exist.

Why is this never enough?

I hope.

I dream.

And dig in the dirt so rough.

My hands.

They bleed.

For the earth to feel me.

My soul.

It cries.

For the dreams which with dust will bury me.

I am.

I exist.

No it’s never enough for me.

No life.

No death.

I long for my dreams to be free!

K. Aldaya, 12/1/13

Picture:  http://dailypayne.com.s60471.gridserver.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/day-156-dirty-hands.jpg

254. Too Sensitive


“Why are you so sensitive?”

Have you heard this before?

Has someone told you to toughen up;

To solidify your core?

Have you ever asked them,

Exactly what that means?

What’s the definition of too weak or ‘soft’?

And is the thought meant to demean?

Is being kind and feeling deep,

Something ugly and dirty?

Is being mean and cold,

Great in higher degree?

As far as I have heard or seen,

Being cold and feeling little,

Is best seen in psychopaths;

They love to belittle!

So when someone says this to you.

You should smile and sarcastically say,

“So you’re a psychopath, I guess,

And want to feel that you’re okay?”

That you are not the only one,

Who doesn’t care at all?

That there is nothing wrong with that?

Don’t feel for others….feel at all?

Well, I’m sorry but it’s not okay,

To feel nothing when you yell,

Manipulate and use words,

Whose point is to hurt like hell.

Of course hurtful words hurt,

That’s why they are called such.

Are you telling me they don’t hurt,

Unless I let them do such?

Isn’t this just another way,

Of blaming the victim?

You were punched: “Why did it hurt?

Why did you feel pain, you victim!

You shouldn’t have let it hurt.

Why are you so sensitive there.

To feel pain or anything.

It’s superior not to care!”

The way I look at it,

If there were just people like you.

Our species would be long extinct.

All killed ‘fore a day was through;

Because if people did not feel,

And this statement never said,

The world would be doomed,

And everyone long dead.

So by that logic being ‘soft’

Is superior and best.

Only by caring for others,

Has our species progressed.

So “Why are you so sensitive”,

Should never be heard.

Yet if it is I point my nose,

And state, “Oh, How absurd!”

K. Aldaya, 10/14/13

Picture:  http://www.marcandangel.com/images/9-bad-company.jpg

253. Why?


I oft’ wonder why you chose me?

Why did you only choose to play,

Your sick sadist game with me?

Why was this my price to pay?

There were other easy targets;

Opportunities to relish.

Did you throw out many nets,

To catch the best trophy fish?

Oh, did you carefully choose me,

Because of who I am or was?

Was it personality?

Visual? Or just because?

Was it foul luck or destiny?

That I so young became your toy?

I born strange in some degree,

That in hurting gave more joy?

Was it fun finding a captive?

Destroying and haunting their dreams?

So every day they’d have to live,

Swimming in echoing-screams?

Did you know you would find a home,

Inside their head:  a black shadow?

Ghost of you to haunt and roam?

Bring terror and lasting woe?

In dreams you haunt. It’s hard to sleep.

I know you are not there, but still…

It’s so real, can’t help but weep,

When you go hunting to kill.

Oh, how many years of running,

From your ghost at midnights’ hour?

Far too many spent singing,

In my head while I cower.

It’s like you are a part of me,

That I cannot escape or kill.

Which hunts the others in me.

Trying to kill all at will.

Isn’t it enough yet to stop?

You can smile and be glad. You win!

Took my soul and with a chop,

I became your sin,…yes, grin!

Oh, should I hope forgiveness comes?

Is that too much to hope for now?

And take from hearts’ beating-drums,

Your relentless black shadow?

Creak, Thump.  Creak, Thump.

Creak, Thump, and a thud!

I can’t take it anymore….Go!

Go away! Leave my blood!!

Pour fast out of me and go!

I oft’ wonder why you chose me?

Why did you only chose to play,

Your sick sadist game with me?

Will my soul find peace someday?

Why was this my price to pay?

K. Aldaya, 10/11/13

Picture:  http://www.planetcalypsoforum.com/gallery/files/1/5/9/6/0/jase_dark_basement.jpg

252. It’s Okay


It’s okay not to be happy.

It’s okay, my child.

Tomorrow the sun will rise again,

And hearts will again run wild;

Beating up and down the streets.

Flowing through the hours,

O’er-rushing with dreams of cakes and sweets,

And fields of endless flowers.

So it’s okay to cry and be sad.

It’s okay, my child.

Tomorrow the sun will rise again,

And yes, you will have smiled!

K. Aldaya, 9/4/13

Picture:  http://extremelongevity.net/wp-content/uploads/Sunny-day1.jpg

251. Morning Run


The morning air is clear and fresh;

And whimsical as a fairy.

She spreads her wings and dances,

Through my skin to carry,…

Me on my way.

My heart beats and prances.

The sun is rising up from sleep.

“Goodmorn to all”, she beams.

I greet with a yawning bow;

And just as fair water streams,

I flow and shine,

Run wet with sweat on brow,…

Stronger in my dreams!

K. Aldaya, 08/29/03

Picture:  http://law.duke.edu/gallery/84&pil=5

250. Please Forgive Me


I’m really very sorry,

That I was born this way.

I’m really, truly, sorry,

That this won’t go away.

I know it is just awful,

To have a child as me;

And you must have a chestful,…

Of disappointment, and plea….

To your God, “Oh Why? Oh Why?”….

“Was I burdened with such?”

“A child so sinful to mortify,

My holy human touch?”

Children as that: all the same;

They all have the disease!

There is no cure for its’ name,

Or its’ eyes which displease.

I know you deeply hate me,

For being born this way.

Down on my knees I could plea,

But this won’t go away.

Sorry you had to bother.

Messed up your perfect plan.

Please, won’t you forgive me father,

For being a woman?

K. Aldaya, 8/26/13

Picture:  http://merryfarmer.files.wordpress.com/2012/07/sad-little-girl.jpg

249. Gardens of Persephone


In the gardens of Persephone,

I’ve built a house for thee.

So every spring when flowers bloom,

They will bloom for thee.

And every morn when sun appears,

As Helios’ chariot veers,

Through the sky and warms your face;

Do not shed your tears!

For when spring’s gone and time moves on,

And the world seems dark even at dawn,

Remember that when seasons have passed,

Spring will return with a yawn.

To renew your spirits and hope:

To live on and to cope,

Until we meet again my love,

In the afterlife to elope….

Where I’ve built a house near Persephone,

And wave her off when she goes to thee;

Every spring, wait there patiently,

In the home, for us, in eternity.

K. Aldaya, 8/18/13

Picture:  http://www.mrwallpaper.com/wallpapers/flower-field-sunset.jpg

248. There’s a Monster in My Closet


There’s a monster in my closet,

I’ve never seen it there,

But deep inside,….I feel it….,

Feel it on the skin: naked; bare.

There’s a monster in my closet.

It murmurs without spare,

Of long ago,…of far away…,

Of a place no longer there.

There’s a monster in my closet,

Breathing.  Breathing.  Breathing,…

Oh, and panting for it’s fare.

“It’s not there….Yes, it’s not there!”

There’s a monster in my closet.

“Open the door”, you say?

I’ll do so, with strength,

I’ll do so right away.

Maybe I’ll see it…..Yes! See it there today!

There’s a monster in my closet,

I’ve never seen it there;

But today I’m going to face it,

And be done with this despair.

There’s a monster in my closet,

Of this I am aware;

And so I delve into it’s lair,

To see it’s face, to let it free,

To find another care.

There’s a monster in my closet.

The closet door creaks open……slowly…open,

Where is it?

Desperately I search.  Pull and tear…until,

There’s nothing left but remnants,

Of what once was there.

There’s a monster in my closet,

I’ve never seen it there,

But deep inside I feel it….

I feel it everywhere!

K. Aldaya, Date: ???

Picture:  http://www.pricingleadership.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/3-12-13-main.jpg

247. Soar Higher


Into the world my child, she flies…,

Away and soars; but I am scared.

Will she be safe and always wise?

Did I teach her everything,

She needs to touch the skies?

And can I trust the world which I’ve never trusted?

To care for and protect one of my dearest treasures?

World of people through whose acts I am disgusted.

Who poisoned my heart until it broke and rusted.

Yet even I cannot protect,

Her, or him, or I from this life.

Control: an illusion’s inject,

So life we do not from the start reject.

If we thought about how each moment is taken,….

Stolen right in front of our eyes: so we close them;

We’d go crazy or mad, and sickness awaken.

So we say:  “Reasons are not godforsaken!”.

Whether there’s meaning to it all,

I know not and I dare not say.

I only know what’s to fear therewithal.

I pray she’ll be able to fly when in fall!

—-praying:  “Don’t be like me…., Please don’t end up like me at all!”

K. Aldaya, 8/6/13

Picture:  http://www.nianow.com/sites/nianow.com/files/user-files/user-295/event/ballerina,ballet,dance,dancer,dancing,flying-a3a1b68aefadfce2a7e11cabf476fbcc_h_large.jpeg

246. Happy Birthday Again


It’s my birthday again.

Another year older.

Another year closer….to death.

And what has been…..

Is still my life and still my fate.

Forever my story.

Forever passed by so fast…..

It feels so late!

Is it wrong I feel only death awaits?

My prime passed in sorrow?

My prime spent in a fog of survival?

Lost child of fate!

It’s my birthday again.

So I’ll smile, even though I’m sad…

So I’ll smile, even though I’m mad….

At time.

Happy Birthday again.

K. Aldaya, 7/13

Picture:  http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3444/3992497669_247ca20588.jpg (Polly Thomas Photography)

245. Why Do I Want to Live?


Why do I want to live when life has no point?

Why do I want to live when all I do is disappoint?

Why do I want to live when death is the only goal?

Why do I want to live when I’m not even sure I have a soul?

Why do I want to live?

I will tell you why.

Because I exist and it’s all that I know.

Because I don’t want to lie…..

Silenced forever in a grave when I die.

Why do I want to live when I’ll die anyway someday?

Because I’m afraid and hope to be stronger one day;

So when death greets me I’ll smile and say,

“I’m ready to be on my way!”

K. Aldaya, 7/25/13

Picture:  http://data.whicdn.com/images/31844451/girl-loneliness-roof-Favim.com-464660_large.jpg

244. Black & White


Black and white.

Cold and fright.

In the dark….it’s cold.

On the face………….it’s white!

Black and white.

Cold and fright.

In the night,….the dark and light,

Give-in to the fears in flight,

From the memories: ………..black and white.

K. Aldaya, 7/24/13

Picture:  http://media.tumblr.com/155765ee66440f1dc78a2fd4ebdd547b/tumblr_inline_mg07nbSWHu1qeptf3.jpg (Kim JaeJoong)

Kim Jae Joong
Kim Jae Joong

243. Live for the Moment


Late I lie when all are sleeping.

In my bed tossing and stressing.

I try to think not ‘gain of weeping,

But my mind won’t listen.

I cannot run from the reelings,

Of life movies inwardly playing.

Cannot stop or destroy the feelings,

Which torture yet again.

The pain of living with the truth,

Bleeds me dry, until I lie,

Closed-off and aloof;

I am the walking dead.

I long to get it out of me.

The shame and pain and memories.

There is no way, don’t you agree?

To save my soul anyway?

I could bleed it out my veins.

I could bandage and heal it,

But the truth is as long as I have veins,

The pain will be there too.

Only a moment would I find relief,

By taking care of outwardly-pain;

Then later, heal, and feel only grief,

That the mark is gone.

As I still feel the pain…didn’t heal at all!

No matter how much I bleed it’s there,

So what can I do?  I have to live or fall.

A moment longer.  A moment.

I must live for the moment or die.

Let it all out and cry.

K. Aldaya, 07/23/13

Picture:  http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8064/8162042118_f981c9c65b_z.jpg

242. My Own Little World


Sometimes I can’t live here anymore.

I have to feel something.

In this world I can’t be weak.

I cannot show my wounded core.

I cannot be a freak.

And so sometimes I have to fly,

Into fantasies and plots,

Constructed from favorite movie scenes;

A main character am I,

On which the conflict leans.

I am strange and am a freak,

And for that reason I am hurt;

But I am important to the play.

There I am saved though weak.

There a freak can save the day!

So I am hurt by the villains,

And then rescued by the heroes.

The heroes understand my pain,

And thus seek revenge on the villains.

The villains mustn’t cause further pain!

I will help since I am a freak.

In movies the freaks are special;

And with my powers and strength,

I do not have to think twice.

I save the day with all of my strength!

I am rescued from pain and torture.

Loved when I never was before.

I am no longer a freak or whore,

And am able to use my strangeness to cure,

The ills of the world, and order restore.

Sometimes I can’t live here anymore.

Where I am a freak, and not special at all.

Where I was not rescued and nobody cared,

And the villains escaped long, long before;

And really I am just a freak and a whore.

K. Aldaya, 07/04/13

Picture:  http://www.wired.com/images_blogs/underwire/images/2008/09/26/noheroics.jpg