174. No One’s Really Listening Anyway

You cannot handle the concepts I give;

In the context of this existence…,

Blinded. Selfish, ’cause you want to live.

You cannot take the truths I know.

Self-preservation’s only human.

You blind yourself to what you should know.

You cannot grasp, and do not care to.

Doesn’t matter if truth is acknowledged;

Shut-out. No matter where, or from who.

K. Aldaya, 10/3/05

Picture: Vampire Diaries: Nina Dobrev and Ian Somerhalder; http://static.tvguide.com/MediaBin/Content/110418/News/4_thurs/110421VampireDiaries1.jpg

173. Where Lie the Dead?

Tell me, O’ where lie the dead?

Ah, they, they are everywhere.

Carried on wind, here and there,

Where’er their restless souls are led.

Tell me, O’ where lie the dead?

They sleep in the trees.

Float on moonlit seas.

The universe is their immortal bed,

Slumbering: memories in head,

Batting live-skin with eyelashes of dread.

K. Aldaya, 9/28/05

Picture: Artist Unknown; http://cdn.playbuzz.com/cdn/3939b4e1-f8dc-48db-a39c-501275b0f8d0/054e1831-5918-4b67-be14-d33e3f9f55e0.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

171. Heroes

Heroes are to me a source of courage.

They embody strengths to live on the verge,

Of heartache, and troubles, but look always,

Up to the sky….and the hope of new-rays.

For they see not the end but the start of each new day.

They lead us to feel thus, in every way.

Not with their actions, though they are there,

But with their mere presence in this life that we share.

K. Aldaya, ’05

Picture: Photographer Unknown; http://www.pehub.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/sunrise-nov-1-300×200.jpg

170. The End is Near I Fear

My hand…look…fast is waning,

No more refrain from word-straining.

For the end swiftly approaches.

Expressionisms flow, in draining,

For sorrow encroaches.

Oh, how steady on its’ course,

We lose and then regain our source.

But hence I fear it will ne’er return,

Dripping-composure off-course,

May have no yearning to return.

K. Aldaya, 9/27/05

Picture: “A Lady Writing” (Close-up) by Johannes Vermeer (1665-66); http://www.essentialvermeer.com/catalogue/lady_writing.html#.VULKsJO8jGs