Too late now.

As the clock moves ever closer

I feel the deep sense of doom looming.

As the skies ready for a descent of

flaming glitter, as the silence waits

for eruption. As lovers move in unison

and alcohol fuels lust and time moves in

that awkward way we trust.

Too late now to hide away in dreams,

to close my eyes in hope of just

another day. Too late now for the new

year bells have seen me upon their

horizons, too late to resolute my days

and wish for dreams of vivid red,

too late now hide beneath layers

within the comfort of my head.

Karen Hayward  ©2015 :).

My feet walked in a whisper.

Eye’s upon the floor my feet walked in a whisper.

Hair upon my face my lips spoke in silence.

Skin beneath my clothes my body was a vessel.

Silence in my mind my soul was empty.

Darkness in my heart was my only light.

Hiding from the world was my only salvation.

Tears of frustration my only relief.

It took everything I had to walk to this beat.

Fear, the cast iron shackles.

Fear, the iron the bars.

Fear, the obstacles of life.

Fear…the sharpened knife I used to cut away

the puppeteers strings.

Fear, keeps me in the shadows.

Fear, keeps me hidden from sight.

Fear, the nightmare that haunts me on the darkest nights.

Fear, the self regulated ego for belief in the worth of the self

is invalid when whispered from my tongue

in the darkness of my self induced shadows.

Karen Hayward ©2015

Deviance in my sight.

Fake it. Fake it until you feel it,

but how can I feel anything when

all I ever see in those deep eyes is

emptiness. An object of requirement

tossed aside once used. One, two three,

tweak, one, two, three, tweak. All that

matters is you hit your peek.

I’m an unexplored discarded vessel

that you perceive as a genie in the lamp,

two rubs, pink smoke fills the room

and your wish is my command.

Fake it, fake it until you believe it.

I am, I am, I am, I am!

I am all that you created for

this i’m sure you are elated.

My reflection is without image, my eye’s

without spirit, my body without

passion, tweak it, tweak it

the latest line in loves new fashion.

I am, I am, I am. Fake it, fake it until

you believe it.

See past the indiscressant

behaviour, look through the emptiness,

search for the reflection, discard the

golden bands of possession and find it.

Before a lack of passion devours your

soul for eternity.

Worthiness.

Believe it.

 

Karen Hayward © 2015

 

 

 

More.

 

If I wandered past you

naked would you see through

me and continue to stare

at the TV? If I laid upon the

bed and stared adoringly at

the ceiling, would you at

least give me a little feeling?

Will you ever see me as more

than an end, will our passion

always e, pretend.

 

Karen Hayward © 2015.

 

More than a switch.

I like it when passion over runs.

When fingers fumble at fabric

and kisses are magnetically pulled

to the skin. When eye’s meet in a

knowing glance and nakedness

is purely chance. I like to feel the

need in your words to see the desire

in your body. I like to feel the wanting

against my skin

as we go

exploring in.

Karen Hayward ©2015.

Whispers of the Universe.

Whispers of the Universe.

I feel the vibrations in my soul,

the passion of a burning flame

ignite inside. The lure of the full

moon and all her power  runs through

my veins. I feel the earth as she spins

and the universe as she blinks. I feel

the ebbing tide as King Triton rages

a storm and the calm of the mermaids song.

I feel the breeze against my skin and

the wisdom of the leaves within.

I feel the night sky and the dying stars

I feel the emptiness of a blue sky without

edges. I feel the birds as they fly free wings

strong and able, I feel the catalyst as the

caterpillar turns and the dragon fly skips

across water. I can feel the universe.

I understand that everything has perfect

balance, I can feel the energy that ignites

my spirit, but I cannot find balance. I

do not know how to fly when my wings are broken.

I do not know how to transform into the

butterfly, I do not know how to run freely

like the breeze. I can feel the universe, I hear

the message. I do not know how to create balance.

I can not see me, I do not know how, to be me.

Karen Hayward ©2015.

Beneath the cloak.

The observer,
watches. Listens
as words are spoken
and internalises the
empty echo, becoming
Finally
a shadow.
Unseen, unheard beneath
a cloak of invisibility.

Peering out from the
dark cold empty space,
the world appears to have
changed.

A brave act to visualise a soul onto the page,
to transform the lustrous rage,
harder still, to step out and engage,
to gratefully accept and happily take.

To be seen when all darkness has consumed,
Living has been resumed,
if I can let go and let myself bloom
In the privacy of a neutral room.

Karen Hayward ©2015.

If like were grey scale.

If eye’s were black and life were blue,
if every question the answer were knew, 
If every act we looked at anew,
then every response we know could be true.

Karen Hayward 2015 ©

Tardis dust.

The peculiarity of sensuality
that wanders freely in my space,
trailing magnetically a shadowed trace.
Curiosity magnified by the specifics of mind, electronically relieved by the wonders I find.

Karen Hayward ©2015.  

The wondrous constant.

Tick tock tick tock.

Tick fucking tock

goes the constant clock

never a moment to pause, to stop.

Tick tock.

Tick fucking tock

not a single moment

to play with your…

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

 

Karen Hayward © 2015.