310. Gypsy Heart

My heart, it is a nomad who wanders to and fro;

Forever seeking that unnamed place where it longs to go.

My heart, it is a traveler of days and endless hours,

Searching for the budding rose among times’ wilting flowers.

My heart, it is a gypsy dancing beneath the moon;

Dreaming of new heavens found to the beating of its’ tune.

My heart, it is a woodland elf who sings out to the trees,

Of its’ aching urge to float out as a leaf upon the breeze.

K. Aldaya, 7/9/15

266. A Rhyming Poem About Rhyming Poems

I’ve heard rhyme is obsolete,

And that it is a bore.

Poems in rhyme are tedious;

And furthermore they fuss,

“The quality: poor”.

Those pretentious elitists.

I don’t care what they say.

Rhyming is just what I do;

And I will continue to,

Write them out this way.

I will continue to write,

Though they will not publish.

They can say it’s pathetic.

Yes, in the head I’m thick.

Do as you so wish.

Why is the rhyme more important,

Than what my poems express?

The depth of what I’m saying?

Hear what I’m conveying;

Perceive and possess!

Rhyme is not some silly skill;

It is a song to me.

I hear it inside beating….beating….

Like my life-force greeting….through words…singing,

And I’m free!

K.Aldaya, 4/6/14