216. Goodbye World

I’m tired of trying to explain what I know;

What I see.

What I sense.

What I feel.

What nonsense!

Only I can know since our souls do not show.

It’s important to me that at least some can know,

What is there.

What is me.

What is right,

Least to me;

So to show what I know of why my soul could not grow….

……….Goodbye world you know.

K. Aldaya, 06/02/11

Picture: by George Grie: http://www.neosurrealismart.com/modern-art-prints/?biography/; http://www.neosurrealismart.com/3d-artist-gallery/3d-artworks/3d-fantasy-art/353d-Final-Frontier-B.jpg

188. Exploration of the Evidently Hidden

When you look at that face,

Can you see there disgrace?

Of the ancient days past,

Pushed down without trace;

Recollections aghast,

Etched into a face?

Beyond the known surface,

But clear more or less,

In outwardly appearance:

Eyes fraught with distress.

There for all to sense.

When that face you doth see,

Would you there then agree,

That the life there imposed,

Upon the skin which ye,

See in form transposed,

Is the face of the end,

Of times we all tend,

To cover with false flesh,

Must transcend…must transcend…

The falsities we mesh,

With hours, days, weeks, and years,

The compounding, it sears!

Now no more, yet much more,

Then we there place in tears.

Hidden where none do implore.

K. Aldaya, 12/11/05

Picture: Artist Unknown; http://img5.visualizeus.com/thumbs/58/b8/eyes,eye,green,magic-58b8090052213eee254d9c83bc65473d_h.jpg

133. Stalking the Soul

Life’s a facade,

Crammed comprehensively with faces;

Vibrantly stroked charade,

Of nonsensical graces.

Dreams are clearer,

Fantastically textured residue,

Of the looking mirror;

And in the soul reigns most true.

Speak in mine ear,

Not of erratic, conclusioned-truth,

Rather of the fear,

That dreams must be lost in dead-youth.

Dreams lie transposed,

Sedulously entrancing my core,

Vulgarly exposed,

But reverently sought even more!

K. Aldaya, 4/16/05

Picture: “Lost in the Crowd” by ShisSharon on Flickr; https://www.flickr.com/photos/28291679@N06/3954821896/

73. Poetic Truth?

Some think they know the poet well,

Who speaks with rhythm, rhymed,

And loudly with a thing to tell,

Cascades the open mind;

Of every soul upon which it fell.

Are words the voices held inside?

Found in each souls’ expanse?

Which are sent outward to guide,

All to know the soul at glance?

For won’t, within, the truth e’er hide?

K. Aldaya, 9/8/04