526. Coliseum

I long to write, though who will listen,

To the rantings of the insane?

The title merely grants invisibility;

And a face without a name,

In the coliseum of civility.

I wander through the crowds,

In the stands, where spectators watch,

As warriors and politicians,

Earn another scar or notch,

In the holding of their positions.

I stretch my hands out for scraps,

As they shoo me out of sight;

Though from here I see it all,

And know that none of this is right…

And soon all of us will fall.

Be it by starvation, wound, or pride.

We are all part of the show.

I may seem but a distraction,

Yet I’ve gone where others can not go;

And seen every angle of inaction.

For they play their parts quite well,

And the world moves to their plans.

I’ve seen every move and collapse,

As money changes hands,

And they fall in the same traps.

From the outside, I look in,

Year after year…Sin after sin.

I hold my voice, and hold my breath.

No one’s listening, so who can win?

We stand aside until death.

I look at you. Do you see me?

Are you looking? What do you see?

God’s play games, as day absconds.

Are you a God, or are you me?

Do you play games with human pawns?

For who can win an endless game?

And who can fight our mortal fate?

Though, in my eyes you’d find the sun,

So listen well, it’s getting late.

This entertainment is not fun!

And this game you can not win!

The only money, worth it, to spend,

Is found in the outstretched hand.

For the show continues long after curtain descends…

And only in the heart of another could you understand,…

All we have is each other in the end.

K. Aldaya, 10/7/20

Picture: By: Jorge Fernandez Salas on Unsplash; https://unsplash.com/photos/hvxJ2cnecd4

484. Cornermen

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No one needs you to fight for them.

They need you in their corner.

When they’re knocked down, and can’t get up,

And a loss is almost sure;

When they fear to get back up.

They need you to notice and stay.

To be there no matter what.

Who needs a friend who disappears,

When they get their deepest cut;

When they’re on the ground in tears.

They need you to simply care.

It’s really as facile as that.

Fighters need good corners there,

To help them up from the mat.

To tend to the wounds, but mostly,

To remind them they’ve got fight.

That they’ve got this. That they are strong.

That emotions are not trite…

Over-dramatic, or wrong;

Because falling is not failing,

And needing others isn’t weak.

For life knocks us all down sometimes,

Making us feel small and meek.

Everyone needs help sometimes.

No one needs you to fight for them.

They need you in their corner.

There are victories and defeats,

And oft’times a loss is sure.

Victories may fill the seats,

Yet losses are the surest way,

To assess how brave we are.

The only way to learn and grow,

Is to get out there and spar.

For struggle is not hollow.

Every person should feel assured.

That no matter where or when.

They’ll get through each imminent fight,

Thanks to their cornermen.

K. Aldaya, 8/3/19

Picture: By: Dan Burton on Unsplash; https://unsplash.com/photos/vuZi5zk5W-A

241. Anxious Truth

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Something’s not right!

Can’t you feel it?

Something is wrong…..

It doesn’t fit!

This life it’s all wrong!

Can’t you sense it?

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Broken.  Distorted.

Can’t you hear the song?

I can’t sleep ’til I fix it.

I’ll fix it right now.

I have to help everyone!

I cannot allow,…

This wrong to continue;

But to stop it….how?

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Broken.  Distorted.

Can’t you hear the song?

Everything’s wrong!

Everything’s bad!

Please help me stop it!

I must fix or go mad!!!

There must be an answer?

Please it’s just too sad!

This life…, oh God…., this game, so….

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

And in truth…..

It’s been rigged all along.

K. Aldaya, 06/25/13

Picture:  by Anka Zhuravleva from her series “Distorted Gravity”: http://www.anka-zhuravleva.com; http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2011/10/11/article-2047778-0E53136900000578-403_964x703.jpg

172. Random Thoughts #5

Twisted Game

Sometimes I feel this must be one sick game.

To see how many times the heart can break, before it dies in shame.

Make us feel at one moment, loved and cared about,

Then lose everything and all purpose doubt.

Compounded Insults

You don’t know….though I wish you did,

The insults pulled-out from where they hid.

Piled up tall in the shadow of years,

In note of consents for all of the fears.

K. Aldaya, ’05