398. I…I Don’t Want to Die

I…I don’t want to die.

“But you are broken, you say?

The only way to fix you,

Is for you to simply die,

And be reborn as someone new.”

I…I don’t want to die.

I know that I am broken,

And that’s all you can see;

Yet, why do I have to die,

For you to be able to love me?

I…I don’t want to die.

Do I really have no worth?

Am I something to be tossed,

And left all alone to die?

Am I truly one of the lost?

I…I don’t want to die.

I just want you to stay here;

To hold me close and tell me,

That I do not have to die,

For you to see me as worthy.

For you to be able to love me…

I…I don’t want to die.

K. Aldaya, 5/29/17

Picture: from Sherlock; http://pharlapcartoonist.tumblr.com/

373. Weeping Willow

Weeping Willow

O’ Weeping Willow, why do you hate the daylight so?

Why do you cry to the sun and hang your head so low?

Do you want us all to feel the same way that you do?

Are you angry with the sun, which dries, then feeds you too?

O’ Weeping Willow, why do you love the darkness so?

Why do you wave and smile at the moon; and let your beauty show?

Do you love the dark because it hides your bitterness?

Does the night conceal your tears within it’s tranquil darkness?

O’ Weeping Willow, why do you exist to feel this way?

Why must you live to suffer so?

Why does it have to be this way?

Do you know where we all go when we turn to dust?

Weeping Willow won’t you cry for me too, when you meet my drifting dust?

K. Aldaya, 10/12/16

Picture: http://indulgy.com/post/cbtCpMSUW1/theclouser; http://indulgy.com/ana–bella/myperfect

360. Who Will Weep for the Dead?

Screaming2

Who will mourn for the lost,

And who will weep for the dead,

When the tides of sinful lust,

Awash each virgin-bed?

Blood is spilt upon the earth.

Oh, the horrors of man’s greed!

Which never takes responsibility,

For it’s every bitter deed.

Scream in terror children!

The dead shall not be grieved!

Only the victims bare the pain,

Of the sins they have received.

Their cries echo in vain,

As the dead will not be heard.

It only drives them more insane,

With every closeted-word.

And who will mourn for the lost?

Who will weep for the dead?

For rather then listening to the truth,

Men grieve for their ears instead.

K. Aldaya, 7/7/16

Picture: http://www.survivingmold.com/news/2014/12/cirs-the-genetics/; http://www.survivingmold.com/news/wp-content/uploads/2034/11/Screaming2.jpg

350. Murderer!

Favim.com-35911

You asked me what I want from you,

I’m happy to oblige.

I simply want my soul which you…

Massacred!

You laugh, for you know you can’t bring,

Anything back from death;

Because once you murder something…

It is gone.

You know you can’t change what you’ve done,

And what you never did.

You walk headfirst into the sun…

Blindly on.

Why did you always walk on by,

While I bled under your feet?

You knew my soul was going to die…

And let it.

So, don’t ask me what I want.

You know it is no use.

My soul left long ago to haunt…

Your conscience.

I want my soul back! Give it back!!

I’m hollow bones and skin!

Why did you let me slowly die….

In your sin?

K. Aldaya, 4/25/16

Picture:  http://favim.com/image/35911/

347. Toward Home

The fire is set…let it rain.

Sprinklers on the ceiling spit,

Out the waters of the sky,

Which stands above the heads that sit,

Under this big white roof and cry.

Some are looking at the floor,

Thinking of their yesteryears,

And how time passed by so fast.

In the joys of their many years,

Their hope and love had grown so vast.

Some are looking at the walls,

Pondering the hour and day.

Will someone come visit them,

And help them bide the hours away?

Will any out there think of them?

Some are looking at the ceiling,

Dreaming of drifting clouds of white,

In warm, pleasant days of summer.

The beep of a bike horn stirs their sight,

As they ride ‘neath azure skies of summer…

Toward home.

K. Aldaya, 4/12/16

341. The War for Survival

giphy

The skies have grown black near the sea this eve.

Even the ocean, muddied, is fit to receive…

The death with follows the tornadoes of war,

Which spread from the shorefront to the steps of each door.

Waves crash and sting the eyes of the weary,

Who stroll through the streets as ghosts: silent and eerie.

Bodies float away and one man with a clipboard,

Counts each one seen with his pen like a sword.

The shelters are gone. There is nowhere to run,

And each man carries his own personal gun;

To fight back the tide of inevitable gloom.

Yet how many bullets will save even one from their doom?

The world is awash with an ocean of change,

Which washes all men and turns them deranged.

They bury the dead in mass graves without markers,

Then walk off with the smiles which living desires.

For who can keep walking on the bones of the fallen,

Without falling too deep into the sickness of men?…

Who have fallen before us begging for mercy;

And died at the gunpoint of their own misery.

The masses walk on with guns in both hands.

There’s no time for thinking. No time to make plans.

Is this war really worth it?…The bodies and the blood,

Of all the life of this planet buried in the mud?

The war continues…there’s no more to be said.

Shoot down your brother so you don’t end up dead.

Yet how will you save your soul from your sins.

For when your body soon rots the real fight begins.

K. Aldaya, 3/15/16

Picture: Originally posted by Gloomy Rules on Tumblr; http://giphy.com/gifs/shark-attack-ocean-storm-thunder-gifs-dOCG720yNqAms

 

 

304. Lunatic Hours

Red Clock Eyes Wallpaper

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

Listen up and listen quick.

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

He’s a raving lunatic.

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

Life’s a crazy horror-flick.

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

Lock the door with a *click*.

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

Choices: Which will you pick?

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

Every choice will make you sick.

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

Skin is thin and blood is thick.

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

You want to know his little trick?

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

Slit your wrists and make it quick.

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

Death, it hates a lunatic.

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

Lunatics are pretty slick.

Tic. Tic. Tic.

Death can’t kill a lunatic.

Tic. Tic.

‘Cause they’re already dead…

Tic.

K. Aldaya, 5/9/15

Picture: Artist Unknown; http://www.wallpaperseries.com/girls/red-clock-eyes-wallpaper.html

299. Star Crossed Lovers

bed-couple-embrace-shine-sparkle-universe-Favim.com-54089

No matter how far we reach,

Our spirits remain distant.

We long to meet…reach…and reach…

Yet our skin is resistant.

Our skin and bones detain us;

Hold us under lock and key.

On and on our sentence drones.

In death will we be set free?

Or is this a death sentence?

Life in prison. No parole;

Without recourse or defense,

Then shot dead through the keyhole?

Someday if our deaths’ pardon.

If souls traverse the cosmos.

Will we finally meet someone,

Discern and draw in so close,

That two souls may become one?

K. Aldaya, 4/7/15

Picture:  By kelsey-makes-you-smile.xanga.com; http://favim.com/image/54089/

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:  Photographer Unknown; http://www.kuramamagazine.com/images/suicidal%20girl.jpg

256. The Silence of the Birds

girl-550x366

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:  “Girl on the Edge” by Tom Ryaboi: http://www.tomryaboi.com/; http://camyx.com/exposure/2013/11/tom-ryaboi-atop-skyscrapers/

245. Why Do I Want to Live?

girl-loneliness-roof-Favim.com-464660_large

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:  Photographer Unknown; http://favim.com/image/464660/

224. I Fall Alone

Alone-girl-sadness-cute-in-forest-lonely

Nobody can help me.

I’ll always be alone.

Nobody can save me,

From the nightmare of it all.

Nobody can see me,

When I cry, and scream, and call.

Nobody can hear me.

In this pit of misery I fall….

Forever fall alone.

Nobody can help me.

I’ll always be alone.

Nobody can save me,

From the darkness which encroaches.

Nobody can touch me, hold me, and need me,

As time reproaches.

Nobody can shut out what I see,

As time, in loved-ones, steals from me….

And poaches…

Every joy;

While I lie alone….Forever, fall (to the grave) alone.

K. Aldaya, 12/26/11

Picture:  Photographer Unknown; http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BSVVQ-Qvw-M/UX5kVQC6TpI/AAAAAAAABy8/cmblY9NUAzE/s1600/Alone-girl-sadness-cute-in-forest-lonely.jpg

207. I Waited, Yet You Did Not Come

BQcDAAAAAwoDanBnAAAABC5vdXQKFmZBaVpCbXZRM3hHZFVtMzAtaDhuWlEAAAACaWQKAXgAAAAEc2l6ZQ

I waited, yet you did not come.

I wondered why, when it was done.

‘Twas too late for regrets.

‘Twas too late for the sun,

To shine and luminate darks’ frets.

I waited, yet you did not come.

I wonder why, now that it’s done.

Where were you when I cried…for comfort,

And from the one…,

From the one I love and hold?

O’ where were you, my love, my love,

When I died?

K. Aldaya, 01/23/07

Picture:  Artist Unknown; http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/img-set/BQcDAAAAAwoDanBnAAAABC5vdXQKFmZBaVpCbXZRM3hHZFVtMzAtaDhuWlEAAAACaWQKAXgAAAAEc2l6ZQ.jpg

176. Have it Your Way

clock-bernard-jaubert

One more day. One more day.

Then time will find,

That stalking one more day…

Would be pointless.

One more day. One more day.

Escape will find,

That it is something we may…

Have to end this.

One more day. One more day.

Then time will end.

For this soul, black as coal may,

Finely get just what it wants,

And have just one more day.

Finely, have its’ way.

K. Aldaya, 10/6/05

Picture:  “Clock” by Bernard Jaubert: http://fineartamerica.com/profiles/bernard-jaubert.html; http://fineartamerica.com/featured/clock-bernard-jaubert.html

173. Where Lie the Dead?

054e1831-5918-4b67-be14-d33e3f9f55e0

Tell me, O’ where lie the dead?

Ah, they, they are everywhere.

Carried on wind, here and there,

Where’er their restless souls are led.

Tell me, O’ where lie the dead?

They sleep in the trees.

Float on moonlit seas.

The universe is their immortal bed,

Slumbering: memories in head,

Batting live-skin with eyelashes of dread.

K. Aldaya, 9/28/05

Picture: Artist Unknown; http://cdn.playbuzz.com/cdn/3939b4e1-f8dc-48db-a39c-501275b0f8d0/054e1831-5918-4b67-be14-d33e3f9f55e0.jpg

158. Give Me a Hand

ALBUM10

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

stairway_to_heaven_by_floriancats-d5qd4kl

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

154. Shadows

reflection_of_death_by_corvinerium_by_corvinerium-d5vd70l

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,

Misunderstandably.

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

152. The Worthy Grave

Mary_Ellen_Mark_Feet_Strapped_Down_in_Bed_1976_c1976_1858_41

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

135. The Fortunate End

600px-Weeki_Wachee_spring_10079u

Oh my darling cry thee not,

When in the murky waters lie,

‘Mersed deep and sought…,

Smothered ‘neath the open-sky,

Over my corpse weep not.

Oh my darling mourn thee not,

For natures’ course has finally met,

The fortune of the long unwrought,

For many suns and moons have set,

With dirty-hands, which hard have fought!

K. Aldaya, 4/19/05

Picture:  A fashion photograph taken at Weeki Wachee Spring, by Toni Frissell, first published in Harper’s Bazaar (December 1947); http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Weeki_Wachee_Springs#/media/File:Weeki_Wachee_spring_10079u.jpg

71. The Seed

10413475-field-of-daisies-and-wild-flowers-with-rocky-mountains-in-background

A seed is dropped upon the ground,

Without a notice, without a sound.

Among lavished fields expanse,

Flowers, trees, and grass-blades dance.

Wind moves on, time on by,

Seed to flower there does lie.

Flower that swayed all alone,

Between two grand slabs of stone.

Flower with more flowers ’round,

But none in this constricting ground.

Flowing on, day by day,

Sun came, shined, then went away.

The flower held in the shadows,

Separate, unnoticed, ‘mid field flowers.

With the shade shed each day,

The flower lost some sun its’ way.

The rain poured down through the field,

‘Tween rock it never quite healed.

Drowning in the bitter-cold soil,

With sun-rays never to foil.

Flower tired from the fight,

Hopes to live another night.

Then one day a seed lands near,

Rain settled from falling here.

Long enough for many a seed,

To find good soil here to feed.

But the flower faded away,

Just as the new flowers say:

“You’re just like us you are”.

“Stay with us. Don’t go far”.

“You can’t leave! Not yet!”

“The sun is not a-setting yet”.

“Just forget about the wet,

Forget about the cold-sad nights,

With loneliness to lend your frights.”

But flower had already changed,

Into something un-arranged.

Flower was flower no more.

Fragment left of its’ true core.

Flowers come and flowers go,

But ‘tween those rocks they grow and grow.

Never recalling that seed long ago,

Which longed to be flower you know,

But wilted ‘fore this could be so.

K. Aldaya, 9/2/04

Picture:  “Field of Daisies and Wild Flowers with Rocky Mountains in Background” by Sandra Cunningham; http://www.shutterstock.com/pic-83264833/stock-photo-field-of-daisies-and-wild-flowers-with-rocky-mountains-in-background.html

57. When I’m Gone

When I’m gone the world will go on,

And nothing will notice my absence.

The birds will still sound,

In the mornings, resound,

Singing of lifes’ sweet enchantments.

The sun will still rise in the beauty-vivid skies,

Though I’m lost from it forever.

Years will pass by and not one will cry,

For the spirit that I once was.

ghost3813x

Many will come when I am done,

And roll through this lifes’ course.

Never in seeing my faded being,

From many long years past.

Only a shadow, imprinted though;

Glimpsed as a daydreams’ phantom.

K. Aldaya, 4/22/04

Picture:  Bachelor’s Grove Ghost Photo Taken in 1991 on an investigation by the Ghost Research Society using infrared film; http://graveyards.com/IL/Cook/bachelors/ghost3813x.jpg

14. Now: Inevitability

clock

Now is all anybody has.

Each moment changes irreversibly,

Leaving us with:  “What’s meant to be”.

Time can’t stop nor be rewound.

There are no retakes to be had

The end result: someday…sad.

Now is all that we have.

There is spirit and life that dies,

Leaving us with too many goodbyes.

K. Aldaya, 6/18/03

Picture: Photographer Unknown; http://theexperiencejunkie.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/05/clock.jpg