278. The Lost-Cause of a Lost World?

What is the point of caring for a world which cannot feel?

The poor are left to starve or die from conditions doctors could heal.

Yet, worst of all the young children sold as sex-toys for the rich;

A network built of greed and blood-money: from death, psychopaths grow rich.

And maybe worse the shattered souls of all abused by those they love.

Who will care when they give up…aim that gun and fire, ’cause they’ve never known love?

And what about the trees, and seas; and all the life we affect?

Each day we destroy our home and expect it to last in neglect.

Who will be there to care when humanity destroys itself;

When all the history of man is lost in the narrow drive for pelf.

Does a god, spirit, or perhaps some other being exist in space?

Will they know and shed a tear for the tragedy, of us, the human race?

I pray inwardly every day that man will one day evolve and be,…

Be the hope of the universe, and end the tragedy…

Before it is too late.

K. Aldaya, 10/18/14

Picture: Artist Unknown; http://www.spiritualunite.com/file/pic/poll/2014/10/581ef0f1ef8e18c3a3b41e61a8f6edb6.jpg

277. Seduction

He knew better than to dream.

Yet he,…he dreamt anyway.

Darkness lifts for a time as days’ gleam.

Ah, the temptress-sun loves to play,

With the hearts of hopeful men.

Oh, see well what cannot be.

See thee clearly what will die,

When dark descends and souls we bury.

Unadjusted eyes more outcry,

The loss of ‘what might have been’.

Time is both reaper and muse;

E’er blooming and withering.

Aware it’s the reapers’ time we use,

To grab hope-worms a’slithering;

And live as ‘productive’ men.

He knew better than to dream,

Yet he,…he dreamt anyway.

The pain is greatest for men who dream.

Agony is sure,…Yet lo, the day!

What a seductive oarsman!

…on this boat to the River Styx.

K. Aldaya, 9/22/14

Picture: Photographer Unknown; http://hdwallpapersly.com/favourite-river-boat-at-sunset-wallpaper/favourite-river-boat-at-sunset-wallpaper-2/

276. Bloody Hands

Red as sun-lit roses in the budding-Spring,

The pavement glistens with fresh blood,

And in my heart a piercing thorn bears the moments’ sting.

In my hand is an old-withered rag of white,

And in my soul a battlefield,

Plays a ghostly reenactment of the costly fight.

–Bloody is the rag which tries to hide a guilty soul,

Yet bloodier are the hands which clean without a rag that’s whole.

Red are these hands and the only I have known,….

Are these hands with fresh-blood dripping…

Dripping, and dripping guilt and pain; scrubbing all alone.

Blue as restless oceans crashing to the shore,

Are the tears which crash to the earth,

Never enough to clean the hands of an old child-whore.

–Red as sunlit roses in the budding-Spring,

The pavement glistens with fresh blood,

And in my heart a piercing thorn bears the moments’ sting.

K. Aldaya, 8/19/14

Picture: Inspired by American McGee’s Alice: Madness Returns; Artist Unknown; http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_maly49hnQp1qkuk8lo1_500.jpg

275. Rest Your Head Upon My Shoulder

Rest your head upon my shoulder,

And I will rest there too.

I’m so tired of trying,

I’ve failed, and the past I can’t undo.

Rest upon my shoulder dear friend.

Your warmth and breath are mine;

In time woven together.

Forget the passing hours and be mine.

Rest now and be at peace my friend,

For time will make us pay.

For stealing what is not ours;

Oh yes, we will have to pay someday.

Rest down your head and do not think,

Of days which slip us by;

And let all cares float away,

As we dream under the fated-sky.

Rest your head upon my shoulder,

And I will rest there too.

My veins are parched and drying…

I’ve failed….and the past I can’t undo….

K. Aldaya, 8/11/14

Picture: Photographer Unknown; http://thesavvysistah.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/sunday-morning-inspiration-lean-on-me.jpg

274. A Drama Full of Suspense and a Little Bit of Insanity

Is happiness more than distraction?

I wish I could say so.

I wish I knew just what it was,

That makes “happiness” so?

I feel the breeze softly blow,

And the warm golden sun.

The beauty is so great I worry,

It’s just a distraction.

It’s said life is a middle road,

Between two vast extremes.

So I wonder why I cannot find it,

Even in my dreams?

Beauty is sad and cannot last,

So I promptly reminisce;

And wind up just as sad as if,

There were no “happiness”.

Yes, it is sure, I am insane;

And certainly too intense.

Oh, I wish I could change out my brain,

And stop living ‘melodramatic-suspense’.

However, this drama called life,

Has always been this way for me.

The plot plays on through the screen,

Of my minds’ TV.

K. Aldaya, 7/22/14

Picture: by evolutionsgonnacome on Tumblr; http://www.evolutionsgonnacome.tumblr.com/post/6038009903