379. Don’t Stoke the Fire!

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The rage is blazing,

Under the surface.

You stoke fires you know nothing about,

And expect not to be burnt,

When they spread out.

Blistering beneath.

Skin searing; screaming!

You throw kindle on it with a smirk,

Then it scorches you when near,

And they’re the jerk?

K. Aldaya, 12/27/16

Picture: Phoenix from X-Men: The Last Stand; Originally posted on Fan Pop; http://www.fanpop.com/clubs/x-men-the-movie/images/33137210/title/x-men-fanart; http://giphy.com/gifs/x-men-E5yr7u9Tn5mgw

272. Societal Denial

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“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:  Photographer Unknown; http://dark.pozadia.org/images/wallpapers/34-Gothic-1280×1024-81205.jpeg

180. What a Guilty Game You Play My Dear

Guilt

How many times must you speak of all your sacrifices?

I know you truly have a heart, but venality your soul entices,

To onus all who hear your call;

With guilt it does impart.

No matter I still care to fix.

Make it right somehow.

But how, O’ how can this be done?

For continuity won’t allow,

The soul to free and finally be….

A persons’ life begun.

K. Aldaya, 10/21/05

Picture:  Uploaded on Photobucket by ezz_0; Photographer Unknown; http://i774.photobucket.com/albums/yy24/ezz_0/Guilt.jpg

164. Be At Peace Little Ones

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In my youth I never slept,

As one of idle mind.

For children of innocence,

So soon are left behind;

To gather and to bind.

A mess of immature chaos,

Was carried from my early start.

Oh, youth should not be poisoned so,

Twisted by a blackened heart,

And dreams scattered apart.

I know not what it’s like,

To be free of my memory,

Nightmares and they intermixed,

Compounded in every degree,

By the years taken from me.

My body was the enemy.

My soul a fallen comrade,

In wars of power and control.

The armor in which I was clad,

Was made of fear…and bad.

When turmoil is your first bed,

And innocence costs you dear,

You learn to sleep alone at night,

And be at peace in the drear.

(As your side’s pierced with a spear).

So be at peace ye little ones,

When youths’ caress has left,

To comfort not within the strife,

That’s left your soul bereft.

Look beyond the theft,

As just one piece of this shattered-life.

K. Aldaya, 9/17/05

Picture: Originally on http://vodkaandvogue.tumblr.com/; Photographer Unknown; http://favim.com/image/311870/

158. Give Me a Hand

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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

152. The Worthy Grave

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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

54. The Cliff

I stand at the edge,

Trying to stand firm.

Stand at this ledge,

To live out this term.

I feel my feet,

Half off this cliff.

The darkness I’ll meet,

If I loosen this stiff.

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Sky black as coal.

Hear all the shadows,

Behind me in whole,

Sending cold-blows.

They poke and prod me,

At all the hours.

They won’t let me be,

With their mean powers.

They’ve forced me over,

With hands I hang.

The shadows, they were, laughing; the whole gang.

Taunting at my struggle,

With sweat on brow.

Between hands I juggle,

To keep hold…, but how?

Their cold, cruel ways,

Pushed me o’er.

On my heart it weighs,

Their ruthlessness galore.

Why can’t they see that I’m slipping?

They care not of me,

And that I’ve no gripping.

I’ve got to be tough,

Never let them know.

That I’ve not enough,

To resist their flow.

K. Aldaya, 3/20/04

Picture:  from Dark Shadows; http://www.awn.com/vfxworld/mpc-takes-bite-out-dark-shadows