No. No one.
No one knows my heart.
No. No one.
Sees even one part.
No. No one.
No one can see me.
No. No one.
Can make my soul free.
No. No one.
No one can change this.
No. No one.
Can stop all the sadness.
No. No one.
No one can know me.
No. No one.
Can in my soul see…,
No. No one.
K. Aldaya, 11/11/04
Picture: Artist Unknown, (NECAOOSE??); http://cdn6.mixrmedia.com/wp-uploads/girlybubble/blog/2011/11/my-locked-heart.jpg
On a strange planet I see,
There some creatures dwell.
A species unlike me,
As far as I can tell.
I long to leave and be,
Where I do belong.
A land that I can see,
Has ears to hear my song.
K. Aldaya, 11/10/04
Picture: “Earth’s Eye”, Artist Unknown; http://www.fanpop.com/clubs/eyes/images/7720454/title/earths-eye-photo
Candle light is waning in the mid of night.
A gentleman refraining from the sleepers’ plight;
Heavy thoughts remaining.
Can the roving mind deeply reach for truth,
And in the darkness find some revelating proof,
That all men live best blind?
Secrets are truths hidden, and when shown they are spread,
Like the plagues from back then which soon become widespread;
All wishing that it hadn’t been.
Secrets linger in the dark or so I long have heard,
And that the truth will lurk ’til letting go the word,
To release the berserk.
But he knows as I do, this gentleman insomniac,
That a secrets residue keeps him wake in black,
But saves all those in view.
K. Aldaya, 10/17/04
Picture: “An Old Man Writing a Book by Candlelight” by Godfried Schalcken (1663 – 1706); http://www.nationaltrustcollections.org.uk/object/290274
Trapped.
A cold damp cell to sleep.
Alone.
In dark silence I weep.
Tired.
Nightmare dreams do seep.
Silenced.
I dare not make a peep.
Afraid.
Of what I’m soon to reap.
Wicked.
My chastisements steep.
Waiting.
Heart begins to leap.
Doomed.
Closer, shadow does creep.
Scorned.
Sentenced as below cheap.
Forsaken.
In entombed dirt heap.
Terrified.
Shivering in nights’ deep.
K. Aldaya, 10/11/04
Picture: Photographer Unknown; http://baseballfordinner.files.wordpress.com/2012/10/creepy-michigan-basement.jpg
I’ve often heard about a girl,
From a distant land.
In meager old town she lived,
In house aged and grand;
Which year by year did stand.
The girl from the highest window,
From the place she dwelt,
Day by day sat staring;
Beside the window knelt,
To see the world she felt.
From the window two floors up,
As dawn drew near,
She saw the town yawn and rise,
To greet the days’ premiere.
Ah, the days she did revere.
As the sun scaled the sky,
More peoples appeared.
Following their bearings,
However brilliant or weird;
Hour by hour they steered.
Laughter of various children,
Loudly could be heard,
Playing in a joyful fancy,
With which there is no word;
“Just happy truth”, sings bird.
All pass her house hurriedly,
None to see her form,
Quickly living out their days,
Through sun, wind, and storm,
To societies’ conform.
No notice made of a void,
An emptiness to fill,
With pair of reclusive eyes,
High on a window sill.
A soul, silent and still.
A girl watching intensely,
When the dusk befalls,
Doors closing for the night,
As the moons’-light calls
The silence enthralls.
Dark descends. Stars glow.
Girl ponders the day.
Many people made it through,
Another spectacular day,
With not one glance her way.
Yet, every morn, at first light,
She wakes before all,
To see the sun shine again,
Upon this town so small.
Abandoned. Not part of it.
Only sights to recall,
Of a life which she’s unfit,
Left in solemn withdrawal.
K. Aldaya, 9/29/04
Picture: Photographer Unknown; http://s1.favim.com/orig/22/girl-sad-window-Favim.com-212680.jpg
My Soul is a Lock Without a Key 
