143. The Antique Book

Same old story floats through time,

Repetitively drawn-out in your arms,

Tired. Tired. Tired.

Over and over further deepened harms.

Alone again in moment dire.

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Embrace the pages refined,

Which tell of what the touch can bring,

Tired. Tired. Tired.

Of the romanced deaths of Spring.

Alone again in moment dire.

Dwelling. Moving…but only tired,

Is this story of love made dire,

From seasons’ words….fading: tired….

Of the rusted pages.

K. Aldaya, 5/28/05

Picture:  Artist Unknown; http://api.ning.com/files/E4wkf04BIyka09WytqTDdQRa27rafSq-NMCrMDgpCxXURC55GGYtrU53Z3aOpWKKJmUnlRjBeQSfNU7GQ95lzb7GTUkEEBlH/GothicBook.jpg?width=413&height=341

142. Broken Toy

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Why is it when you’re near my heart becomes rigid with fear?

Your presence makes me fall back into myself with tear;

Screams descend with minds’-call.

Why is it when you’re here my life progresses disappear,

Into resonant past?

And yet I try to persevere by destroying the cast.

Why is it you appear to chaos my soul with endear?

What did you do to place the horrors of each life-year onto your aging face?

Why is it when you’re near my solitude is made severe?

–Lose everything again–

On my eyes a bloody-smear becomes a perm’nent stain.

Why is it when you’re here distant pain-memories appear?

Cannot escape them now,

Not now, or ever my dear,

For that you won’t allow!

Why is it you appear to float within the hostage-drear,

And love what you destroy?

For with murderous domineer you break your favorite toy.

K. Aldaya, 5/26/05

Picture: American McGee’s Alice 2: Madness Returns; http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m160r1FDr61qcr9a8o1_500.png

141. Heavens’ Lighthouse

Your lines congruent with the sun,

Contour into a face.

Shaping a light silhouette,

Of beauty and grace;

After the sun has long set.

Your figure dances in my heart,

And molds my empty skin,

Into a shining beacon,

Of your love akin,

To heroes of wars won.

Your soul, is to me, a lighthouse,

Shedding on open-sea,

Relief and hope to travelers,

Lost in storms that be;

From the cold-wind that stirs.

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My helpless ship was tossed about,

By the waves of fortune,

Until the sunbeams from you:

Lit, and it was done,

I found a home in you.

On your shore I landed embraced,

In the warmth of safety,

Guarded by angelic-light,

A sanctuary, in lifes’ never-ceasing night.

Your beam floats in the starry-sky,

On the seashore I watch,

The clouds glisten and unveil,

Heavens’ gates a notch;

In nurt’ring surveil.

Then for a moment the night scene,

Sparkles radiantly,

The stars cascade through the black,

And form perfectly,

A resplendence without lack.

Lines etched in vast portrayal,

Of twinkling gallantry,

Spans the universes’ breadth,

And reflects on the sea,

A cast made with clouds’-breath.

There you lie upon the water,

Immersed in storms of sin,

Caring, and thou so bearing,

The pains held therein;

From your light-room sharing.

For to me, you are a beacon,

Shimm’ring upon the sea,

Lighting the dark loneliness;

Longing to love me,

And the suns’-rise express.

K. Aldaya, 5/15/05

Picture:  Artist Unknown; http://images4.fanpop.com/image/photos/21700000/Haunted-Lighthouse-after-dark-21766978-742-646.jpg

140. Unconceived Notion

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How is it that you can’t see that I’m not happy here?

Contorted masking deceptions bring flowing empty tear,

From misconceived perceptions.

How is it that you can’t tell that I’m so lonely here?

I try to fit and make things work but all I know is fear,

Of what in all mens’ minds lurk.

How is it that you can’t see that I’m so often tired?

Seasick from searching ocean depths to find answers required,

To accept the flooding concepts.

How is it that you can’t tell that I’m not just like you?

Somehow we think nothing alike.

You fit with all you do,

And I’m the outcast you dislike.

How is it that you can’t see that my own world is real?

Land that believes in the spirit,

Seas made of what you feel,

And whispered voices speak it.

How is it that you can’t tell that my life’s all my own.

Seeing things you will never see.

No words on the tombstone which is etched in gold and clear to me.

K. Aldaya, 5/14/05

Picture:  Artist Unknown; http://www.wallpaperup.com/uploads/wallpapers/2013/02/04/34222/a998a12ca5e88cb5960adb820990ffbd.jpg

139. Running Circles

A big circle this world does seem.

Seemingly running back to the start….

Over and over. Again and again.

A lost fight this world does seem.

Seemingly losing then trying again…

Over and over. Again and again.

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A lost cause this world does seem.

Seemingly gaining yet little found gained…

Over and over. Again and again.

A big circle this world does seem.

Seemingly running around and around,

With no firm answers to be found,

We run over and over…

again and again.

K. Aldaya, 5/11/05

Picture:  Photographer Unknown; http://favim.com/image/38066/