393. Rash Acuity

You speak fast and spew your words,

All over the place.

Without care you spread your thoughts,

Devoid of depth or grace;

Then look at me with judging eyes,

Awaiting swift reply,

To signify my intelligence,

Based on how quickly my words fly.

Pardon me, while I contemplate,

On how little time you take,

To make absolute assumptions,

And trust the conclusions you make.

I am not that sure of myself,

I’m afraid that it is true.

I always question everything,

And ponder hard and long when I do.

So if you’re awaiting fast reply,

Don’t bother waiting around.

I don’t really care if you think me daft,

When you can’t see my need to expound.

Leave me alone with my thoughts,

And I’ll think until I’m weary.

For there are no absolutes to me,

Only the most plausible theory.

Please take your judgments elsewhere,

There are far better things to do,

Then converse with someone so shallow,

As to judge as rashly as you do.

K. Aldaya, 4/24/17


163. The Fog


The misty earth below is hid,

From sight of God and man,

As heavens’ protection doesn’t bid,

This shadowed world to know its’ plan.

Beyond the airy gray below,

Are those who live within,

The land of empty-shadow,

Thick upon the air with sin.

In this land there is a house,

Covered with moss and jaded-vine.

And in that lonely little house,

Is a child in tranquil confine.

A fire pleasantly lights the room,

Glitterin’ the windows with a dance.

But a soul inside its’ tomb,

Is cold as ice…froze in a trance.

Silence poisons the emptiness,

But for the raging flames afar,

As a child bound to distress,

Can so swiftly burn and char.

Thoughts find themselves a home,

In minds that beg for mercy,

Beyond two glassy eyes which roam,

To glimpse every controversy;

For fires of rage burn bright,

Inside each past made memory.

Seen with unwarranted sight,

In a madmans’ vast puratory.

Men can be, or choose, to be,

The face of God on earth,

Raging at all souls they see:

Sinned and sorely lost from birth.

Fear is this mans mask of death,

To all who look upon it,

“For fear is respect”, he saith,

“Willed to strike the vile in wit”.

Terror and fear engulfs,

In flames he ignited,

In this child of ill-sent faults,

Not right, yet never righted.

The child in this lonely place,

In the rooms’ corner far,

In a state absent of grace,

Dreams of the soon daystar.

Though God’s closed his view,

To whate’er purpose is there.

He’ll return when the day is new,

As hope gives way to renewed care.

The misty earth below will light,

With sight of God and man,

And in the sunshine, eye bright,

Beg resolve for some ultimate plan;

Which leaves a solaced land,

Inside where this old house does stand,

Hidden from all sound reprimand.

K. Aldaya, 9/16/05

Picture:  by Meaghan at abookwormshaven.com; http://abookwormshaven.com/2012/12/08/saturday-snapshot-house-in-the-fog/

53. Condemnation


All will cruelly condemn you for doing some bad things,

Though never even notice you when wearing angel wings.

When you make a few mistakes or two, occasionally.

All will want to point each out to you, bitterly.

Why, all you people, are you so mean,

To the ones that from all sad they glean?

Stop being judgmental, all you people here that dwell,

For you’re sending hearts into the depths of a hell.

K. Aldaya, 3/29/04

Picture: “Jigoku Shoujo” by Rhonda21; http://s240.photobucket.com/user/numot/media/Jigoku-Shoujo_Rhonda21_46264.jpg.html?o=0