276. Bloody Hands

Red as sun-lit roses in the budding-Spring,

The pavement glistens with fresh blood,

And in my heart a piercing thorn bears the moments’ sting.

In my hand is an old-withered rag of white,

And in my soul a battlefield,

Plays a ghostly reenactment of the costly fight.

–Bloody is the rag which tries to hide a guilty soul,

Yet bloodier are the hands which clean without a rag that’s whole.

Red are these hands and the only I have known,….

Are these hands with fresh-blood dripping…

Dripping, and dripping guilt and pain; scrubbing all alone.

Blue as restless oceans crashing to the shore,

Are the tears which crash to the earth,

Never enough to clean the hands of an old child-whore.

–Red as sunlit roses in the budding-Spring,

The pavement glistens with fresh blood,

And in my heart a piercing thorn bears the moments’ sting.

K. Aldaya, 8/19/14

Picture: Inspired by American McGee’s Alice: Madness Returns; Artist Unknown; http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_maly49hnQp1qkuk8lo1_500.jpg

248. There’s a Monster in My Closet

There’s a monster in my closet,

I’ve never seen it there,

But deep inside,….I feel it….,

Feel it on the skin: naked; bare.

There’s a monster in my closet.

It murmurs without spare,

Of long ago,…of far away…,

Of a place no longer there.

There’s a monster in my closet,

Breathing. Breathing. Breathing,…

Oh, and panting for it’s fare.

“It’s not there….Yes, it’s not there!”

There’s a monster in my closet.

“Open the door”, you say?

I’ll do so, with strength,

I’ll do so right away.

Maybe I’ll see it…..Yes! See it there today!

There’s a monster in my closet,

I’ve never seen it there;

But today I’m going to face it,

And be done with this despair.

There’s a monster in my closet,

Of this I am aware;

And so I delve into it’s lair,

To see it’s face, to let it free,

To find another care.

There’s a monster in my closet.

The closet door creaks open……slowly…open,

Where is it?

Desperately I search. Pull and tear…until,

There’s nothing left but remnants,

Of what once was there.

There’s a monster in my closet,

I’ve never seen it there,

But deep inside I feel it….

I feel it everywhere!

K. Aldaya, Date: ???

Picture: Photographer Unknown; Originally on Aperture Journal.com; http://imgarcade.com/1/old-creepy-doors/

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

103. Silenced Dreams

I often feel I should not speak,

Of dreams I oft’ have dreamt.

For bitter stories can they leak,

Stirring up much contempt,

And isn’t need irrelevant?

Though longing, long in silence,

For expressioned visions.

A contemplated final sense,

To reasons that dreams run,

With same old things, never done.

K. Aldaya, 11/14/04

Picture: “Alone in the Dark”, Artist Unknown; http://dark.pozadia.org/wallpaper/Alone-in-the-Dark-1/

86. Men Live Best Blind

Candle light is waning in the mid of night.

A gentleman refraining from the sleepers’ plight;

Heavy thoughts remaining.

Can the roving mind deeply reach for truth,

And in the darkness find some revelating proof,

That all men live best blind?

Secrets are truths hidden, and when shown they are spread,

Like the plagues from back then which soon become widespread;

All wishing that it hadn’t been.

Secrets linger in the dark or so I long have heard,

And that the truth will lurk ’til letting go the word,

To release the berserk.

But he knows as I do, this gentleman insomniac,

That a secrets residue keeps him wake in black,

But saves all those in view.

K. Aldaya, 10/17/04

Picture: “An Old Man Writing a Book by Candlelight” by Godfried Schalcken (1663 – 1706); http://www.nationaltrustcollections.org.uk/object/290274