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/

264. The Most Life-Like Zombie Survival Game Ever

It’s so dark in here;

And cold…yes, it’s so cold.

Won’t someone turn on the light?

I cannot see the zombies,

But I’m ready to fight.

Fight for life and limb,

Or run and run some more.

Can’t stop or I won’t survive.

I have to get out of here…

Get out of here alive.

Shhhh…Quiet! I hear….

Close by they are walking.

I will hold my breath and wait.

I do not hear them now, so…

There’s no more time to wait!

Look there! An exit!

Afraid, but there’s no choice.

I pull myself together,

I’m so close….and I….

Open to the weather.

It’s dark outside too.

Though, no time to ponder.

I keep on running….nowhere;

What is the point of it all?

If I live will someone care?

Will they care that I….

I’m surrounded by death?

Care if I’m eaten alive?

Or will they join the feast too?

Laughing: “She was too weak to survive!”

I have stopped too long.

I race to the forest.

Gasping: run and run….and stop.

At my feet the waters’ edge.

I crouch to sip a drop.

My hands reach….but what?

What is that down in the deep?

There is an eerie figure.

I step back and I weep.

Crack. Crunch. Sounds behind.

The zombies! They’ve returned!

I wipe my eyes; turn and gasp!

You are not a zombie…no…

Reality I grasp.

“Hello”, zombie says.

(the zombie: in disguise)

“Hi”, I reply, and it smiles.

A human smile….deep and warm;

A smile…it’s been awhile.

I can’t believe it!

Do my eyes see the truth?

It moves in close and closer.

Surely, it is just like me?

Nothing bad will occur.

I reach out to touch,

And as my hand rises,

It pushes me with fury.

Backward I fall and I sink;

And kick in a flurry.

I am such a fool!

To believe it wouldn’t hurt me.

I can see it’s hateful grin,

But wait, can’t reach the surface!

I look–it is my twin.

Blacker than the black,

It washes into me.

I drown and when I wake: see,

The being on the surface is…

Human, not a zombie!

There were no zombies.

Ran all my life from them;

Was easier to pretend,

They were monsters than to know,

That sorrow in the end.

Sorrow of dying….

Sorrow from rejection.

Terror of being hunted….

Devoured without reason;

And everyday confronted….

…with just trying to survive.

K. Aldaya, 3/18/14

Picture: Photographer Unknown; http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rOEpjOA3UuM/TSUY3XGnkwI/AAAAAAAAB1Y/ZhI8tTXj7v8/s1600/IMG_4003.jpg

256. The Silence of the Birds

Here I am so lonely.

No one really cares.

I’m just out here surviving.

Why is it no one dares?

To talk to me, or know,

Who I am or long to be?

Or simply say hello,

When they walk on by me?

I’m tired of surviving,

Of doing the right things.

Of saying hello and smiling;

For me, no one does these things.

And yet, they are so simple;

I do them every day.

Though I doubt yet one would call to me,

If I were to walk away.

If I turned and walked,

Up the stairs some more.

And to the top emerged.

And loudly closed the door.

And walked slowly each step…

Tip-tap with the clock.

And softly closed my eyes.

Pondering the tick and tock.

And as the wind,

From the North,

A cold and icy thing,…

Blew, I would step forth,

—-No more to sing.

K. Aldaya, 1/19/14

Picture: “Girl on the Edge” by Tom Ryaboi: http://www.tomryaboi.com/; http://camyx.com/exposure/2013/11/tom-ryaboi-atop-skyscrapers/

255. Never Enough

I am.

I exist.

Why is this never enough?

I see.

I dream.

Why are dreams so tough…..

To hold?

To keep?

Yet so easy to create.

I dream.

You dream.

Though dreams can’t fight fate.

And still.

We hold.

Struggle to grasp with two hands.

Our souls,

So deep.

Walking the line ‘tween two lands.

Was made.

Alive.

Hoping beyond all odds.

Destroyed,

And dead.

Both am I; and my head nods.

To earth.

To dust.

My creator and my exterminator.

My love.

My hate.

My lower and my greater.

I am.

I exist.

Why is this never enough?

I hope.

I dream.

And dig in the dirt so rough.

My hands.

They bleed.

For the earth to feel me.

My soul.

It cries.

For the dreams which with dust will bury me.

I am.

I exist.

No it’s never enough for me.

No life.

No death.

I long for my dreams to be free!

K. Aldaya, 12/1/13

Picture: “Dirty Hands” by Aaron on dailypayne.com; http://dailypayne.com/dirty-hands