I could sit for hours in this spot,
Just staring at the wall;
And I sometimes wish I could do just that,
Without any guilt at all.
Yet, I feel guilty for my absence;
For not being enough…
For letting my mind escape for awhile,
When times get tough.
So I fight against the emptiness,
And fight against the pain,
When I know it’s only a matter of time,
And it’s sure to end the same.
If one day I don’t make it back.
Please promise me you’ll try,
To still come visit, and hold my hand,
A few times before I die.
K. Aldaya, 5/11/16
You told me to say goodbye to yesterday.
You told me it’s just a ghost that haunts my way,
And today I saw it walk across my street;
And today it’s presence reminded me,
That we can’t run from where we’ve come,
Without growing, in the knowing, of what’s been done.
I see you…the ghost of yesterday…
K. Aldaya, ’05
Picture: Uploaded by BonnieBleuVa on Photobucket; http://s217.photobucket.com/user/BonnieBleuVa/media/My%20photos/1spookywoods12936969-lg.png.html
Take my hand. I wish to leave…
This asylum of white.
Hold on tight…I seek reprieve.
Let’s escape into the night.
Take my hand, and lead me home,
To walls of brick and stone.
I’ve always wanted a home,
Where I don’t live alone.
Take my hand, and hold me tight,
For I fear humankind;
But it’s okay…it’s all alright…
In the world within my mind.
K. Aldaya, 1/7/16
What cardinal loathsome misery.
To see beauty in its’ utmost form,
And ne’er the hands to hold it to thee,
And ne’er the words to let its’ truth free.
K. Aldaya, 06/02/07
I often feel a deep connection with railroad tracks. I see my life as those abandoned railroad tracks through the forest which I used to walk on to school everyday. Behind me the track stretches beyond a road and continues on with no point of origin in sight or reach; a path once traveled, holding perilous and unknown truths, which have been lost to haunted memories. The path endlessly sprawling before my eyes is unchangingly as lonely, empty, and deserted as the track I’ve traveled. Each new step leads toward an empty attempt at finding a purpose which doesn’t have existence here. Each step leading to one more step. Each track to more track. More empty, lonely, cold-rusted steel track. No point of origin. No point of destination, but that final one in which all tracks eventually lead; whether this track or the next step, or the next, or the next ten million. The train passed long ago and I am left here forever in its’ abandoned shadow.
Picture: “Foggy Morning Train Tracks to Indian Land NC” by G.H. Holt: https://www.flickr.com/photos/ghholt/; http://www.flickriver.com/photos/ghholt/popular-interesting/