Keep on moving, moving, moving.
Fate is cruel,
And worth reproving.
Keep on trying, trying, trying.
Life’s unjust,
There’s no denying.
Keep on going, going, going.
The point:…
There’s no way of knowing.
Keep on fighting, fighting, fighting;
Be it by pen,
Then keep on writing.
K. Aldaya, 10/30/18
Picture: https://www.theodysseyonline.com/passion-is-where-the-power-is
My body fights while my mind runs away.
How can I get it to stop running, and stay?
My body, it lives, though my mind…it plays dead;
And quite convincingly, acts as brainless instead.
You do not know me…as I am not there.
I hide and you do not notice or care.
You call me a moron for being unaware;
As I run further away in despair.
What can I do? And what can I say?
To make my restless, broken soul stay?
I look out, trapped behind my eyes,
And it’s no longer me who hurts or cries.
My body fights while my mind runs away;
Though sometimes I wonder…why should it stay?
K. Aldaya, 10/25/18
Picture: http://discovermagazine.com/2012/jul-aug/05-ways-to-leave-your-body
You look at me like I’m a wall…about to crumble.
You step back…once…twice…always,
Then turn away while I rumble…
And fall to pieces.
You look at me like I’m a dam…about to rupture;
Then you tell me to be strong,
As you gossip ’bout my structure…
And I flood and drown.
You look at me like I’m a storm…about to transpire.
You run as far as you can;
And as my footing becomes dire…
I up and vanish.
Yes, I’m the freak of nature everyone passes by.
I tumbled down. I sank beneath. I blew into the sky.
No, No one ever said: “closer”…
They just waved goodbye.
K. Aldaya, 8/1/18
Picture: https://pixabay.com/en/alone-walking-night-people-city-764926/
In the story of my life,
You are the villains;
The plotters. The schemers. The bringers of strife.
You praise your heroism,
In dealing with me,
While pointing out flaws and enacting schisms.
You would only have loved me,
If I’d have earned it;
For you praise the motto: “Nothing is for free”.
You hold out expectant hands,
Awaiting some gold.
Oh, how is it not one of you understands?
I shouldn’t need earn the right,
To be loved like you.
Existing does not need a permit you write.
I’m sure you’d act shocked to find,
You’re drowning in sins.
Yet, of course you will all pay no nevermind.
After all, you are the villains.
K. Aldaya, 7/13/18
Picture: https://www.pexels.com/photo/attractive-beautiful-beauty-black-and-white-594421/
Once upon a time there were two men born out at sea,
And though began on different ships; Each stared down their destiny.
As sailors are want to do, by time, or just sore luck,
They fell into the churning sea when a raging storm had struck.
They both knew of the Isle nearby. All the sailors knew it well.
The Isle where they were headed, ‘fore their ships sank ‘neath the swell.
The Isle was where wealthy men built mansions out of gold,
And lived in luxury and peace; Ah, truly a sight to behold!
If only they could reach that place. They knew life would be grand.
They looked at the stars that night, and oriented themselves toward land.
One man had a mile to swim. The other: nine miles more;
Though both set off with conviction, to live and reach that shore.
The first man soon made it there, and lived until old age.
He wrote books, and sculpted art; And his story is now ‘all the rage’.
The second man: he drowned at sea, less than a mile from shore.
He’d fought hard and long for those nine miles,…likely harder then any man before.
Yet sailors tell his morose tale over drinks and platitudes;
Laughing at his misfortune with disparaging attitudes.
“What’s the meaning of success? What does it mean to fail?”,
One man asked as he sat down to converse o’er another round of ale.
“You may say the first man is clearly the success.
For he made it to the Isle, and lived in grandeur and excess.
Yet, the first man only swam one mile….so is success really the case?
Is success the result of outcomes, or is it more about the race?
For I wonder why the second man, who swam for eight miles more,
And didn’t give up for those nine miles, is a failure for not reaching shore?
He may have never reached the Isle. He may have died too young.
Howe’er he lived and fought far longer, then that man on societies’ tongue.
The man who swam the further…who fought until his last,…
Is he not the man who succeeded the most?
For in the end, all men’s ‘die are cast’…
Into the sea.”
K. Aldaya, 6/9/18
Picture: Artist:? http://picturefordesktop.com/stormy-sea-images-desktop-wallpaper/
My Soul is a Lock Without a Key 