I’m so overtired.
I wish I could sleep.
I stare at the ceiling,
And silently weep.
I’m nobody’s worry,
And nobody’s care.
Lifetimes of emotions,
Pull me here and there.
The moon’s even sleeping.
I wish I could too,…
Though life, it is not fair,
And it is not through.
I have many more nights,
To cry on my own;
And far many more days,
‘Fore I can go home.
K. Aldaya, 8/22/22
Picture: By Joshua Rawson-Harris on Unsplash; https://unsplash.com/photos/wCgy-qHtZtM
If truth hurts someone’s feelings,…
It’s disinformation,…
Though hurting you for it’s the state of the nation.
Politicians start race wars,
While blaming you and me,…
And praise morality,…
While spreading bigotry.
The masses tally point-cards,…
In games of victimhood,…
Then throw help away,…
Victimizing victimhood.
–People grow ever more tired and cruel,
Behind screens,…comments, texts, and tweets.
Trashed for each typo and misword,…
Passed with nary an eye to meet.–
What good’s a mouth that’s muzzled?
What good’s a mind, unwise?
What good’s a human heart,…
Where love can not arise?
K. Aldaya, 5/19/22
Picture: By: Maarten Scheer on Unsplash; https://unsplash.com/photos/7Ouf2hMCYi4
Humanity used and hurt me for it’s gain,
And when I cried out in pain,
It consumed my voice.
Fear and suspicion pervaded all the stars.
They claimed “theirs”, of what was ours,
And eclipsed the sun.
Now I pine in this interstellar darkness,
Writing on of my distress,
And though it may be useless,…
Send it into space.
K. Aldaya, 11/15/21
Picture: By Adrian Gaede on Unsplash; https://unsplash.com/photos/ddwLvLf-7ao
The wave, it washes o’er,
And pulls me out to sea,
Yet how can I swim away?
When the ocean is me?
I can not stop the flow,
Of thoughts through synapses;
Nor the depths therein which drown…
Moments in lapses…
…Of consciousness.
K. Aldaya, 5/20/21
Picture: By Velizar Ivanov on Unsplash; https://unsplash.com/photos/UoALJojNPcs
There is a tall castle,
It looks lovely from the top.
The tower is inviting,
So passersby often go up;
To see the sea of green,
And to the fae, raise bounteous cup.
However, this castle,
Is a most sprawling domain,
With levels and rooms galore;
Though no one wanders without aim,
As each window and door,
Is locked with keys of their own name.
And each key rests below,
In the haunted dungeon halls,
Where the screams of yesterdays,
Still echo through the walls themselves;
And the terrors from those days,
Remain undusted on its’ shelves.
Thence, who would travel forth,
To seek out the truths within?
When blue skies are so pleasant;
And nature moves in expansion,
Adorning the present….
Burying tales without description.
Empty graves, without name.
K. Aldaya, 5/18/20
Picture: Originally by Evan Mitchell on Flickr;
https://wallpaperscraft.com/download/mask_bw_monochrome_124766/3840×2400
My Soul is a Lock Without a Key 