359. Vertigo

“This circle of existence keeps going ’round and ’round,

And I’m tired of this spinning,” she said with a frown.

“It’s hard to keep my feet steady and faced to where I’m going,

When vertigo’s a state of mind and there’s no way of knowing…

If the whirlwind can be contained,

And how long the spin will last;

Though as it’s oft’ been said before, “Children, the die is cast!”.”

The Earth keeps on circling: ’round and ’round we go,

And heads keep on tripping o’er questions no one can know;

‘Til men fall to the floor unable to take a stand,

Against the flow of existence’s every command…

As answers always lead men,

Back to the same place.

No one can stop the cell-bound vertigo of the human race.

“This circle of existence keeps going ’round and ’round,

And I’m tired of this spinning,” he said with a frown.

“If only I could take a stand in this life of mine.

If only I had some control over life and time…

To change what is and was…

To end this suffering;

Though hasn’t every man before me longed for the same thing?”

—As the world keeps on spinning…

K. Aldaya, 7/3/16

Picture: http://giphy.com/gifs/space-night-earth-p69not0nbwli0

358. If Time Were…

If time were a butterfly,

Could I reach into the sky,

And catch it in my hands,

So time would never fly?

If time were a pirate’s ship,

Thieving our hours away,

Could I raise a mutiny,

So we all could have a say?

If time were a human being,

Could I take their hand,

So we could stay together,

Forever, hand-in-hand?

Time is not a butterfly,

Nor human soul or ship,

Yet I can’t help but wonder why,

The time must always slip…

As the hands on the clock wave us goodbye.

K. Aldaya, 6/30/16

Picture: Originally posted on blessotherwomen; https://www.pinterest.com/pin/303711568592843666/

356. Fireflies

Fireflies fill the night skies.

The wind is warm and light.

I stand alone beneath the stars,

This peaceful June night,

And wonder if stars are really,

The souls of ancient beings,

Who look upon the plight of man,

As a show with histrionic scenes.

In the expanse of time and space,

The lives of earthly men,

Must seem so trivial to a star,

Who’s seen from now to then.

Will stars recall when we looked up,

And stared into their gaze?

Will they remember who we were?

Will they remember us always?

Do we remember the fireflies,

Which danced before our eyes?

On summer nights while time passed by,

Did they gaze into our eyes?

Do not forget those fireflies,

Though trivial they may seem,

In the many nights of our lives,

They come and go like a dream.

Yet, if we don’t remember them,

Or moments while we live,

Who could hope for the stars to gaze back,

And watch us while we live?

And recall when our time runs out,

The beauty of existence.

How each life’s spark was beautiful,

In these skies of happenstance,

Where we all danced for awhile.

K. Aldaya, 6/9/16

Picture: By Steed Yu for National Geographic; http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/photo-of-the-day/fireflies-stars-night/

355. Political Reform

Where are the hands which hold you here?

Which hold you to this land,

Of scorching concrete,

And vulgar deceit?

Where gavels scream every command,

Of the political elite.

Where are the hands which hold you back?

Which hold you in embrace?

The hands which act,

To make an impact,

Before time is lost without a trace?

Toward death the odds are stacked.

Where are the hands which hold you near?

Which hold your worth skin-tight?

Hands fall to find,

The world is unkind.

Countless die from depression’s heights,

Waiting for laws to be signed….

………..Waiting for a hand to hold.

K. Aldaya, 6/4/16

347. Toward Home

The fire is set…let it rain.

Sprinklers on the ceiling spit,

Out the waters of the sky,

Which stands above the heads that sit,

Under this big white roof and cry.

Some are looking at the floor,

Thinking of their yesteryears,

And how time passed by so fast.

In the joys of their many years,

Their hope and love had grown so vast.

Some are looking at the walls,

Pondering the hour and day.

Will someone come visit them,

And help them bide the hours away?

Will any out there think of them?

Some are looking at the ceiling,

Dreaming of drifting clouds of white,

In warm, pleasant days of summer.

The beep of a bike horn stirs their sight,

As they ride ‘neath azure skies of summer…

Toward home.

K. Aldaya, 4/12/16