155. Lost Voice

Tongue-tied…

No words to find,

Within the reasoning of the mind.

Searching, searching, far and wide,

For ways to speak the words confined.

Confused.

The mouth sewn shut,

To seal the emulating smut.

Searching, searching; Chaos fused,

In pursuit of another cut.

Frustrated.

Letters lie lost,

Piercing out a bloody-cost.

Searching, searching,…motion-faded…

Lips present a scarlet, glossed.

Shed no tear,

And mourn no wrong,

For these days continue long.

Redemptions’ voice echoes here,

Speaking out of every wrong.

Tomorrow.

Another day seen,

In an ever-frightening glean.

For unspoken words of sorrow.

Ravage the flesh unclean.

No words,

No words to find,

Within the furor of the mind.

Searching, searching, the un-heards,

For a voice of humans’-kind.

K. Aldaya, 8/2/05

Picture: “Silenced” by JolsAriella on Deviant Art; http://jolsariella.deviantart.com/art/silenced-207287676

152. The Worthy Grave

You truly don’t know what the hours can bring,

The shrill stinging-winters, and fresh buds of Spring.

The seasons hastily wither on,

All entangled and used as a pawn,

In the deaths nights discernibly bring.

The graveyards are open for guests or the dead,

And isn’t that you when you sleep in your bed,

Dreaming of a consistent view,

Agreeable to aspirations in you?

Which disintegrate, with all I’ve said.

Don’t worry my plot has been worked myriad ages,

Slumbering shallow there, in ordered stages.

Tombstone reads, “Here lies the dead”,

And yes, I’m still lying here in my bed,

Citing forth head-words to pages.

You truly don’t know what the hours carry,

Floating o’er my ossuary.

I’ve bled, and bled, and bled to live;

But to ghosts, time cannot give,

Blindness to what all can see.

(So just leave your knife inside of me.)

I remember the smell of damp death and earth,

And the screaming silence of broken-birth,

Driven to solace with your purging-pain,

A blade of turmoil and chaos to the brain.

For you see?….

Your souls’ deathbed was granted as my worth.

K. Aldaya, 7/13/05

Picture: “Feet Strapped Down in Bed” by Mary Ellen Mark: http://www.maryellenmark.com/; http://www.bulgergallery.com/dynamic/images/display/Mary_Ellen_Mark_Feet_Strapped_Down_in_Bed_1976_c1976_1858_41.jpg

147. Black Roses

I thought if I expressed my pains,

The pain would be too great,

That all the flower, in one brief hour,

Would wither in dead-fate.

But I’ve been wrong as so often I am,

Forcing-out the inner world,

Has only made the flowers grow…steady and slow,

Into dark interpretations of my world.

Seeing there before my eyes those tinted-petals,

Swaying in a windswept field.

Shadows set free for all to see,

My mind fogged with unsettles.

I thought the black-blooms would turn,

My eyes to love its’ hue,

And grant this love to rise above,

All thoughts of life in me to view.

But I was wrong, as I’ve always been, about this too.

You cannot hide what lies inside,

To live you must show you.

To the world show all the pains,

Materialize them…they are real.

If they lie, your heart will die,

For flowers need room to reveal.

Thickets of thorns: crimson and black,

Grow ‘neath tear-drowned skies;

Swiftly slicing their way each day,

Through bones and skin to your demise.

My moonlit roses ashen and set,

Far and wide upon my face,

Have released my heart burdens of its’ part,

In fading tears to bloomings’-pace.

Flowers must be able to grow,

And show what must be seen.

Hiding deep pains…draws weep stains,

To choke burdens unseen.

So leave me my field to show,

That I can let each flower,

Grow and be for all to see,

And daily greet each new rain-shower.

K. Aldaya, 6/15/05

Picture: “Rose Gothic” by Zefir4ik on Deviant Art; http://zefir4ik.deviantart.com/art/Rose-Gothic-144655365

142. Broken Toy

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

136. The Buried Past

How can I help you understand,

What I’ve seen and known?

If there’s something to comprehend,

It’s not to use that tone.

Exhuming secrets long o’er-grown,

Isn’t your work of hand.

Tell me how to explain in words,

The scen’ry shrouded,

With stinging o’er-powering senses;

Absorbing the clouded,

Days of what is sought in crowded,

Rooms, found afterwards.

Quick, be still. Calm inquisitions.

Forcing forth sealed-core,

To recollect its’ provincial,

Ghost-shadows, broke and tore;

Which plague the confines to the pore;

In repetitions.

Please let the time forget itself,

Be ye still and know,

That although I may oft’ look lost,

Hope is found with cost low;

To all who seek to be thou so:

Dwellers for times’-self.

For time must seal itself a grave,

In everyone bound,

By the inhalant-smells of death,

Faulting ‘long cold, hard ground,

Spreading the stark resonant-sound,

Of the ancient knave.

For in each of us there lies,

What cannot be had.

To live, be, in this torrent-sea,

We must lose olden-bad,

And forget the set-stained sad of…,

Days lost to the skies.

K. Aldaya, 5/3/05

Picture: “The Ecliptic” by Larry Landolfi; https://500px.com/photo/339318/the-ecliptic-by-larry-landolfi?from=user