167. Written In the Stars

The stars on this eve,

Endless and vast, radiate;

With acceptance and light,

For whatever’s my fate.

Be it low. Be it great.

My yearning for reason,

Endlessly brings me out,

Into the darkness of night,

Seeing stars and worlds we doubt;

Though they’re always about.

Glistening in each eye,

As stars in this black-sky,

Are the flows of why….oh why?

Must I cry and die,

Alone beneath the sky?

No connections made,

Or constellations love-laid.

No compassion. Encourage.

And further lights fade;

For sore punishments paid.

Stars befriend sight,

With steady understanding.

For they know why I’m here,

Pleasant and ne’er demanding.

Never screaming nor commanding.

Stars do remind me,

Of what I truly am.

A lowly hint of glow,

Out of line with times’ program.

I sunk….then I swam.

For stars on this eve,

Endless and vast radiate,

With acceptance and light,

For what’s surely my fate,

Ever low. Never great.

K. Aldaya, 9/22/05

Picture: Photographer Unknown; http://amazingpics.net/content/Lovely%20Forests/forests%20138.jpg

166. I Guess You Really Don’t Care

Did I hear you wrong or something?

I thought I heard you say you care?

And I would have given anything,

To hear it said again somewhere.

What has changed from last we talked?

You used to speak and share?

Now all you have done is walk,

Many times past me while I stare.

Why are you so distant now?

You used to touch my hair.

You hardly even touch me now;

Seem to forget I’m there.

You once told me you cared to know…

Everything ’bout me, made aware?

So why did you so quickly sow,

The seed of “I don’t care”?

K. Aldaya, 9/17/05

Picture: Photographer Unknown; https://lhueagleeye.files.wordpress.com/2015/02/halfwaybetweenthegutter-wordpress-com.jpg

165. A Purpose

Someone once asked me,

What I thought,

Our purpose was to be,

With life given us free?

What’s the conclusion to be sought?

What matters most to thee?

I replied that: “Living…,

To me is much more,

Then just love for living.

Its’ for always giving,

Conclusions built from loves’ out-pour…,

Steady and forgiving.”

K. Aldaya, 9/17/05

164. Be At Peace Little Ones

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/

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/