Prescience of quotidian enchantments:
The dreams one dreams ‘fore dawn.
Flowers, stars, sun, and moon,
Would seem form’laic were thee gone.
Thy face illumes the perfunctory tides,
Of apathy…, banality;
For if striven assiduously,
Smiles freely radiate from thee.
Myopically one cannot do much more,
Then love this deb’nair season.
For one dreams, hopes, and loves more,
Near thy beauty past all reason.
K. Aldaya, 2008
I cannot give you everything.
The stars I cannot reach.
A mortal am I and one day I will die;
Just as those whom in prayers we beseech.
I cannot give you gold and jewels,
Or titles and castles.
I will though give, what I can as we live,
Together as earthly vassals.
I cannot give you perfection,
If such a thing there were.
Capricious. Perfidious.
And a ‘God’ lifes’ one comforter.
I cannot give you everything,
Yet this I give to you.
A hope. A prayer.
A joy, and a care.
A promise to look after you.
And forever give, should I now die or live,
All the love which my heart could now or ever give.
K. Aldaya, 4/12/08
Picture: Photographer Unknown; http://blog.myheritage.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/1221258221F3Les7b.jpg
Mine eyes emerge from the chalice of dreams,
Drunk is the heart, as a lover, it seems.
Thy flesh is aglow as the glisten of dew,
Every morn, as thy face shines anew.
Enigmatic beauty in thy form,
Clouds all logic,
O’ thy presence is warm.
I care not of ‘morrow or any swift sorrow.
Thy life is my life, and thy strength I may borrow.
My lips cascade thy cloth-less, soft expanse,
Endless intoxications, to entrance.
For when morn turns to eve, and night to day,
I know not the reasons, but only the way;
That thy life fills my life,
And breathless I stand,
With my heart, thy heart,
And my hand in thy hand.
K. Aldaya, 04/10/07
With resolve we climb our mountains,
Eyes opened to the sky.
Never stopping once to question why.
Duties of the generations,
Doubly bought and bled for,
And believed as more then old shed-lore.
Straight incoherent loyalties,
To people, thoughts, sights, sounds,
Delusions of what in life compounds.
Human souls are not possessions,
Or their labors and skin.
Not by blood, or purse, or condition.
Untrustworthiness with others,
Is surely ‘nough to drive,
Rebellion and logic into the head to thrive.
Respect, kindness, and clemency,
Should be the character,
Deemed to be valued in portraiture;
And for the ages handed down,
As presentation of,
What the word “family” means: chosen love.
Love is not conditioned or set,
As some rigid mountain.
For love is lost when self-interest,
Is the only plan.
K. Aldaya, 9/25/06
Picture: Photographer Unknown; http://blog.internations.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/09/International-friends.png
Our little lives,
Our daily lives.
So lonely they….not far, not close,
Every day,
Ah, just a dose.
Little lives they,
Daily lives, they,
Separate from wants.
Not wrong, not right,
Just apart…
Ah, the loved-hearts’ plight!
Our little lives,
Our daily lives,
Away from our loves.
Not lost, not found,
For love’s hidden,
Where longing is found.
K. Aldaya, 5/25/06
Picture: Artist Unknown; http://www.divorcecollaborative.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/09/skeleton-waiting.jpg
My Soul is a Lock Without a Key 
