280. The Death of Dreams

Remember when you dared to dream?

Remember when you still had hope?

When the world held possibilities,

And time was vast in scope?

Remember when you dared to trust?

Remember when you still saw good?

When you looked into a persons’ eyes,

And expected brotherhood?

Now you always expect the worst.

That people are working an angle.

And when you look into anothers’ eyes,

You expect your heart they’ll strangle.

And now you don’t know how to dream.

And hope just makes your heart cry.

For you look in the mirror and all you see,

Is a vessel almost bled dry…

Just waiting ’round to die.

Remember when you used to think,

Someday you’d find some salvation?

And be saved from the death of dreams,

By some empathy or consolation?

Now all you think is that it’s late,

And hopes and dreams: for the young.

And daydream what might have been,

If your dreams weren’t left unsung.

You close your eyes and fantasize,

In your daily dissociation,

About how you and things might have been,

If just one person had offered validation…

Before the eleventh hour.

K. Aldaya, 11/2/14

Picture: “In the Mirror” by Sad-Cat on Deviant Art: http://sad-cat.deviantart.com/gallery/; http://fc05.deviantart.net/fs70/i/2011/135/b/a/in_the_mirror_by_sad_cat-d3geaay.jpg

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

196. The Great Inundation

Days of light, and black of night,

The endlessly faded-years,

Arise in mind, the wish to find,

The ground unwashed with tears.

Shadows of night,

Flashes of light,

Drip in and out the eyes.

What can I say of where I’ll stay,

When rivers run and rise?

Wooden floors, and creaking doors.

I do not dare to linger more,

For waters-rose, sift through the toes,

And send shivers before.

I do not wish to make a splish,

And out of door make ‘scape.

I only ask, what is my task,

For drying times’ landscape?

I know this house has been a house,

Through myriad ages and storm-rains.

What is, just is, and what is…,

Has left me with these pains.

Give me a firm place to stand firm,

Within the flood-torn remnant thoughts,

Of the mind, which I still find,

O’er-run and soaked with fraughts.

K. Aldaya, 4/20/06

Picture: “Flooded Subway-Murder” by etwoo on Deviant Art; http://etwoo.deviantart.com/art/Flooded-subway-Murder-174655998

137. Hearts of Hope

I rode by Hope Drive today,

On a day as any day,

Steady on the sought-for path,

Chasing fluid-dreams that below gray clouds hath.

What is it about this land,

Which makes us e’er strive o’er sand?

Shifted by the winds of chance,

On roads we flow on in a lively dance.

Little known about the course,

But for the sun and moons’ source.

Predictable dances danced,

To the flourishing of us: daily entranced.

Bearing caskets of regret,

And pains dug-up from times’ set.

Creaking-timber haunts foots stepped,

Upon aged-stone where progress is oft’ backswept.

Then a season comes to clear,

For a moment trusts seem near.

On a day like any other,

The tired road traveled passes another.

Desires to continue…,

Trust in humans found anew.

“Life is short”, we echo out,

As a brazen bell of funerals devout.

So we drive along our way,

Each and every bloody day,

Stepping on the cracks we’ve made,

On roads we ride on in daily masquerade.

Our footprints cut in the cracks,

Pouring crimson hurts from backs,

Over-burdened with remorse,

From the afflictions of predescended course.

Even with our scarlet feet,

Weeping from our journeys’ seat.

Eyes glisten with the sure sight,

Of a Hope Drive: reminding us of the light!

I rode by Hope Drive today,

On a day as any day,

Steady on lifes’ constant path,

Chasing the hope of dreams which each heart hath.

K. Aldaya, 5/7/05