love

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A blessing in twilight’s thoughts.

ladyarmor

At dawns awakening
the world screeched
upon the etched carvings
of a spiteful tongue,
hates essence
suffocating my light.
Drowning in yester-
years ocean of
delinquent blood.
The hours owned
by the devil, wiped
clean by the angels
beating wings.
The merry go round
of existence. Dawn
becomes day, day
becomes noon,
noon leaves too soon.
After drowning in
evening’s promise,
night begs for
resistance.

Tired eyes and stinging
mind, I walk the halls
to you, no calls for mum,
no echo of media.
I pause about your feet,
and take in life’s splendour.
A gift . . . the soft hum
of sleep already arrived,
the whisper of a moment’s
promise. I pause now with
freedoms time upon my hands,
and stare into the heart
of twilight skies. your
gentle sleep, a melody so
sweet.

Karen Hayward (c) 2017

Image found on pinterest

Darkest Light.

 

Photo

Darkest Light

Consuming
and all drowning
my essence of night.
Deepest blue,
darkest burgundy,
it matters not,
my essence is cloaked
in this state, this void.
Think not of my night
and my aura as negative
for a dark state
can be a canvas.
A blank page for
something bright
to create. . .something
bright to form
my nights’ sky
and give it character.
and make it
come alive.

Yet it should consume me.
Darkness such as the night sky
should devour me, swallowing
my essence into oblivion.
Do you see me?
I am a mere whisper
of light lost in the echos of time. Yet,
when you lay me upon
your dark essence,
your canvas
becomes my art.
Your depth is my contrast.
I tip toe through your darkest blues
leaving illuminated kisses.
My essence, glimmers and glistens
upon your touch, for my light. . .
is love,
created by your darkness.

Words & Image
©5-2017 Locthiese/Karen Hayward

Check out more work crafted by the multi-talented Loc Thiese by clicking here

love came at a cost.

banshee

The oxygen in my crimson blood.

Love? Beyond spacious atoms, lust?

Love could never be our song.

Oxytocin stuck to us,

seeped from our pores,

became our alphabet.

A tug of war and I always lost

my flesh came at a cost,

to us both,

to you,

to me.

Nothing comes for free.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image found on pinterest

 

How deep is your love…

The radio echos love songs 

And I am spirited through 

A maze of devotion,

Emotion,

Then, lies spoken. 

And the pain suffocates 

Momentarily. 

I try to shake the image, 

But it is embossed within 

Our early day memories. 

I wonder who you lied too. 

Yourself?  Me? 

Both of us? 

A lie is a lie no matter how 

Well formed, 

The intrepid storms. 

What did she have 

That I didn’t, apart from 

The obvious of everything,

You were her King. 

The radio echos that song 

And I refuse to sing. 
Karen Hayward © 2017

Image and word’s 

In relation to elation at the the devil’s pitstop station…

Vodka? Poison of choice

To drown out the voice…s

Of despair and frustration 

And fucking elation…

There’s a relation? 

In this nation..

In the devil’s pit stop station. 

Devil me this

Satan’s kiss

Leaves a stain of intrepid haste

A bitter sweet taste

History is a story through 

Everyone’s eyes,

Noone is shy

They’ll all spin a lie

In a web of deciet we cannot

Defeat…

The devil and his spies. 
Karen Hayward © 2017

I will be her moat and drown in the suffocation of your spite.

A wonder to me,

so much hatred in those

eyes and spite in those words.

Atrocities of self imposed ego,

the world must be bowing down

at your unwashed feet for the axis

of the earth tilts at your command.

Come down from your mighty throne

and lay upon my skin your bite,

fists scorned in fury, scars from emotional

battlegrounds hold no depth now and

you linger on the grass verge of betrayal

your hate washes over me much

the same as your fingers at my throat,

meaningless as you pull me back into the

depths of your hell, my worth carries no

value you cannot strip me of what i do not

own. And so it is, no pain is pain without true

gain her heart so pure you tainted it in the

posion of your callous tongue, you crush her

with your heavy burden of fear in a repressed

offering of strength, you are all powerful as she

cries tears, you are king as she tends to the broken

beats of her heart, you are all…I shall pick up

the pieces as i always do, sellotape the cracks

and whisper to her that she is princess to a

Queen…I will cocoon her in love so great your

hate cannot break the barrier, i will be her wall

of defense and meet with pride your fury, i will

be her moat and drown in the suffocation of your spite.

I will be her castle and keep her safe for eternity.

You are a wonder to me so much hate within

those eyes so much poison in that heart, so much

spite in that soul, you are blind and raging in a

storm of your own creation.

 

KH*©2017

Willowed whispers.

…and in the willows
wisp of love,
where shadows reign
and death departs,
the beast ascends the
ancient walls
searching the shallow
skies of time,
to bless upon your
soul,
and mine.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Essence upon the air I breathe.

maygarden 015

Walk with me as one.

For was this not always

your most desired wish?

To see the world through eyes anew,

to experience life in my view?

Wander freely, listen to life’s music,

watch God’s miracles,

talk with nature in unity, laugh,

dear God laugh, for laughing is compulsory,

a must,

a treasured past time that transmits

the frequency of life echoing through the

atoms of our existence. Do you see?

Silver thread aligns a row of clouds in

preparation and I paint the walls in grey

so melancholy knows

already my name and

never comes a searching

for my soul in which to tame.

Walk with me as one beneath

a single sun and illuminating moon

your essence upon my skin and

spirit within my soul, come now,

dearest,

walk with me…

Karen  Hayward ©2017

 

For what reason does the soul sing a symphony of words?

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A celebration of life,

I ponder what is such without poetry?

And what is poetry without life?

But for the empty void of letters amassed

together to create a void of

existence nullifying to the soul…

Karen Hayward ©2017

 

 

A passing essence of lost hope.

Your soul is empty,

your spirit waned,

’tis the reason you

play desperate games.

A master of words, they slip

from your tongue, soothing

the edges whilst you have your

fun. The world is created

through images of flesh,

and you consider them this or,

perhaps a bit less. You play and

you take your feelings so fake.

A whirlwind of fantasies out rank

life’s realities. But when day break

comes and you’re all out fun, you’re

going to realise whilst you were playing the field

with nothing to build,

she passed you by, that single one.

Karen Hayward ©2017