570. What Was All Of It For?

As we grow older, we wonder,

What was all of it for?

Is there some rhyme or reason,

For all that comes before?

Astute men throughout the ages,

Have made many a claim;

Though what’s the use in guessing,

When no one’s lived the same?

Are experiences naught more,

Than sense and memory?

Which float and flutter inside,

‘Til souls, from the world, flee?

Will anything be learned or changed?

Will all we are be lost?

If all that pain was for nothing,

Was it not then, too high a cost?

As we grow older, we wonder,

What was all of it for?

Is there some rhyme of reason,

For all that comes before?

Though ev’rything has it’s season,

Aren’t we left as incomplete lore?

When here on earth there is no road,

That leads through another soul’s door?

K. Aldaya, 1/13/22

Picture: By: Ilya Shishikhin on Unsplash; https://unsplash.com/photos/-K7yvsDvj2g

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

470. It’s Only Fair

black-and-white-girl-nature-photography-Favim.com-356563

They say that life,…it isn’t fair.

That the best of us die young;

And men who live until old age,

Still die with songs unsung.

Yet tears give life to the Earth,

And the dead find a place to lie.

You raped me, but it’s alright;

‘Cause I,… I watched you die.

It’s said that there is a plan,…

Some meaning to it all.

Yet I find it hard to sleep at night,

As people rise and fall.

Will anyone remember you?

Will they laugh or will they cry?

You raped me, and it’s not alright,

Yet I…, maybe I should feel glad,…

For I,…I watched you die.

Did the angels ever get to fly or is it just a tale,

Told by early men who died by both monster and sail?

I do not know much of it,

Though I fear it’s all comforting lie.

Those who hurt, rape, and kill,…

One day they too will die.

Is death the great equalizer?

In death is all made right?

Will the criminals and the victims,

Go together toward the light?

All men are born victims,

And even criminals cry;

And even though you hurt me,

I didn’t want you to die.

K. Aldaya, 3/24/19

Picture: Original Source Unknown; http://favim.com/image/356563/

442. Into the Sea

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/

440. Presence

We reach out for purpose,

Cutting through time like a knife.

Surveying each step with elation,

As if God’s creating life.

Are we more than rotting thoughts,

And orbiting electrons in atoms?

If I stand still or take one more step,

Will it really change any outcomes?

I want to believe in more than this.

In more than my petty musings.

Yet, despite my wish for my words to remain,

I can’t cease their death by refusing.

If I write, or walk, or take a step,

Or if I choose to protest.

There will still be something there to lose,

Whether idle or over-obsessed.

So, I reach out for purpose,

Whether it cuts me in it’s course;

For despite my ruminations,

Presence is an unstoppable force.

K. Aldaya, 5/22/18

Picture: Original Source Unknown; http://keywordsuggest.org/gallery/129704.html