162. Betrayal

Your eyes reached deep inside and clasped my heart tightly;

Tinted with crimson blood bore in unparalleled degree.

Igniting: embers set free, in traverse of irksome mud.

Dust and tears combined: Your passion play to win!

Which was drenched upon my soul weighted with unknown sin;

From the sight the eyes begin in search of loves true role.

The torchlight was extinguished by the swampy mayhem,

Of your minds considerations, and the love your eyes condemn.

And my heart-fire in this poem;

Of drowning internalizations,

Is your rejection of my love,

Which left me for dead thereof.

K. Aldaya, 9/9/05

Picture: “Ripped Out Heart” by Mandy…..?; http://www.layoutsparks.com/1/107179/ripped-out-heart-image.html

161. Messages of Love

I see me here in your view,

Clinging to the signs,

I see those messages from you,

Thriving with choking vines:

Living to die in vain.

From childhood a stranger,

To the idle dream-work,

Of others, who meant danger.

Shadows to creep and lurk,

There condemned asunder.

To be not kindred with the throng,

Those mortals and mortalities.

Driven hand-in-hand along,

Complete in their normalities.

With vitality and fortitude.

I turned to the specters,

Instead of fighting on,

And followed perfumed nectars,

Into bleak woods a’drawn,

To fall in sleep ‘neath death-trees.

Waking mislaid on ashened-soil.

Below a strangled tree, gasping,

For breath in whole fret toil,

As on every branch clasping…

Vines: living to die in vain.

To see me there harshly met,

By natures’ lethal tragedies.

Hope to not forget,

In pains the eye foresees,

In sympathies to comprehend.

For though death may greet me.

The time means not the matter.

I strived on in such degree,

As to surely scatter,

The living death thought to be vain.

For to see me in your view,

Clinging to those signs,

Given in messages through,

Thriving-on-me vain vines,

Proves my life and death are not in vain.

K. Aldaya, 8/28/05

Pictures: Snow White and the Huntsman: Kristen Stewart and Chris Hemsworth; http://cdn.sheknows.com/articles/2012/05/Snow_White_with_Huntsman_2.jpg

160. Heavens’ Angels

Angels whisper secrets on the wind,

Barely sensed, but by the sinned.

Tortured-wails resonate,

In these endless nights of late.

Sifting through spirit skinned,

Seeking paths to heavens’ gate,

Brushing our eyes of glass, froze,

In the evenings as we doze.

Reinforcing haunts of thought,

In embrace of what’s forgot.

Comfort lit-star shows…

Hence, gone, and not.

Begging mercy for souls tonight,

On wings of angels’ flight.

As we softly rest weak bones,

Gently as wind music drones,

And settles within ears light…

“Sinned are thee”, where love unowns.

Flagrant transgressions made,

We shed on face to never fade.

And lo’ the angelic-tenants,

Of gloried sight and fertile scents,

Soar o’er field and glade.

Longing for heart-lands dense.

But few are we who grow no life,

No trees branched to the afterlife.

We close our eyes at night to pray,

Knowing our sins are bound to stay.

For the moon so crisply rife,

Shines in our hearts of gray.

Shameful existence of…

Supplications to above.

Seraphs celestially abide.

Not near we mortals a-died,

Unable for to have love…and..

E’er reach Zions’ reside,

On angels flown in skies above.

K. Aldaya, 8/27/05

Picture: “Flying Angel” by NaJae-Crazy on Deviant Art; http://najae-crazy.deviantart.com/art/Flying-Angel-345515496

159. The Lonely Mind

Would it not be grand to have all understand,

This life I have known, and the mind that doth stand,

Alone in bare-atone?

Wouldn’t it be great to be not one lost fate,

But a cared ’bout concept, not to be learned too late.

For still-conscious mans accept?

And being thou then seen, not for pity but for being,

For toiling in isolations, in whate’er sense it mean;

And conceive the implications,

Of what one may so glean.

K. Aldaya, 8/25/05

158. Give Me a Hand

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