Without the Rainbow Pieces.

Photo courtesy of Walter E. Gantt. ©2016

‘Pieces of a Rainbow.’

I feel a vast emptiness inside of me,

spreading through the black storm

clouds, I search for my Rainbow and

I recall you gave it away.

And I search  for my love

and I remember you gave it away.

And I wonder where is my passion

and I recall you gave up that too.

And I ponder the way we once connected,

perfectly synchronized

and I don’t even try as you gave that away…

And now I wonder what is left…

A future?

A future without love

without passion

without soul

…is a slow and torturous death.

Karen Hayward ©2016

Image used with permission ©Walter E. Gantt. 2016

Please see more of his amazing photography here on g+

His wonderful photography can also be

viewed and brought here at Fine Art America.

Not perfect.

I’m not perfect and I fuck up.

Sometimes I don’t clean your mug.

I spit in your tea, and I often test

the buttered side up or down theory.

I sometimes fight back just for the peace

and I no longer prayer for the silence to cease.

I sell you my soul as an ultimate goal

and this bothers me not, for it’s simply a role.

I’m doing a job and the money is shit

a trade for a trade and little bit of tit.

The body is empty it’s just flesh and bones

and I give out, because you do nothing but moan.

Some days I play the good little wife

pretend I am capable of this caged up life.

Other days I scream from the pits of my soul

for passion and love and to simply feel whole.

I’m not perfect and I fuck up all the time

and constantly you tell me this is a crime

to put my needs first ahead of your own

but if I ask you for help you just fucking moan.

So I stopped asking.

Started multitasking.

I’m not perfect, I fucked up,

I spat on your ego and little gold cup

and constantly I tell you to fucking grow up.

So you crush me harder, you know the buttons to press.

I’m stubborn, hard headed and not out to impress.

I fucked up I was never enough

the lesson was hard and so very tough.

You tear at my spirit and I sell you my soul

the Devil watches as I grease my whore pole.

I could never bow down I could never submit

The perfect wife, I never did fit.

You say i’m cold hearted, as cold as ice

I say, you’ve never truly looked into my blue eyes.

I’m sorry I fucked up and i am not perfect

I’m sorry I can never forgive that you gave me a defect.

I’m sorry I want to reach for the stars

when you see the door as being too far.

I’m not perfect, I fuck up I do

every single time I forgive you.

I’m not perfect, at least not anymore

yet i’m not forsaken, the devil isn’t at my door.

When the day comes when I’ve rid of my shame

when I stand in your face and abandon your name

when you scream to the world, she could never be tamed

I’ll stand like the lion and his glorious mane.

Karen Hayward ©2015 (Image and words)

The splintered rainbow.

There is only so much

torture

my soul can take before it splinters.

Your empty eyes staring

at flesh, not seeing.

Fingers stealing elation, gorging

on your self need. Punishing

opposition.

Withdrawal encapsulates your

self righteousness, the devil

dwells in your heart. You wish

to disembody me, carve out

my voice, condemn me to

a life beneath you. There was only

so much my soul could take

before it splintered, the recent

cracks still healing, I would have

splintered if not for

the rainbow, I would surely

have splintered.

KH©2016

Where you saw glass, lay diamonds.

Did you feel the shattering of glass as she sat in silence? And did you see how that glass cascaded weeping hues of colour through the darkness? Did you hear her violent muted screams in the silence of your world? Did you sense the distant echo of her anger as it transcended her mind and became the very shadows that carresed you beyond the view of light? Did shards of her existence splinter your mind as she endured the slow torturous destruction of internal implosion? Did you know beneath the glass lay diamonds spilling through the universe, slipping through your open fingers. 
Karen Hayward ©2016

Ode to my headphones.

Solitude, another world untouched by reality

a vortex of gratitude, a gift from Barachiel perhaps.

They exist, so I may exist in the darkness. They are

my light and without them my world is plunged

into the abyss alongside Satan and his lonely soldiers.

 

It is love. With every flutter of my heart with every

beat to the rhythm of sound it is love. It sweeps

through my soul freeing me. A tiny world encompassed

in the whitest light.  They are silence,

In a world that so is audibly violent.

They are hope when my light cannot burn,
When it flickers weak in the screaming breeze,
A magnitude of thoughts, hummed, sung, played, spoken,
Whispered to me as I fall.
They are the only one to see my tumble, the only one to call my name.

Harmonious perfection, a chorus of comfort,
As they play the secrets to my life,
Repeating the drumming soldier, the screaming broken soul,
the essence of love, the token of…friendship.
The belief in myself, they are my strength, when I am weak.

They are my light, my only light in a world engulfed in the flames of hell.
Without them I am lost plunged back into the punishment of silence.
The bridge between nowhere and hope.
They are love, they are my soul, my spirit and the essence of
My being.

Karen Hayward © 2016.

 

The cerebral effect.

A life devoid of emotions.
Let the sin of skin speak the truths and
devour our souls as passion slips
through onto the page. Fill the
emptiness with desire. Desire.
Desire that is inspired by an emotional
attraction. Fuse the temporary emotions
that can be created for purpose. Purpose,
the emotional state of being. Without being there
is no purpose. Emptiness that devours the soul
even death would be a welcomed benefactor, there
is no fate worse than this, the vastness of an
abyss. Frozen in time as an old homemade VHS tape
flicks though the candid camera. Before pictures.
Black and white tinged in belief, spoiled now
with a rainbows smear as even the leprechaun
sheds a tear for the broken. To venture, leave
behind past scars and become devoted to the
moment without concern for the future.
Remove my domino, let the cloak fall to
my feet and bare myself with the abandonment
of an untouched spirit and let passion be the
sparkle in my dying eyes. A life devoid of
emotion, is no life at all, it is the black abyss
of faithful regret, the cerebral effect of monotone
existence. It buries my raw in the bloodied
mud of mistrust and flows through my veins
poisoning my essence. It is the slow death
that creeps though your days as the angel
hides in the shadows, watching and waiting
to collect your part lived soul. But as he reaches
down to pick you out from the crowd, the
hollow shell cracks, the soul atomized. Forgotten
dust as the breeze carries the delicate petals
on new adventures.

Karen Hayward ©2016.

Courage.

Repost just cos she rocks my world. 

To my daughter, who let go of the swimming pool edge for the first time yesterday.

‘You’re doing that being proud thing, stop it.’  You cry through muffled tears.

But I am proud and I cannot stop the surge of emotions that rush through me.

‘I didn’t want to do it, I thought I was going to fall.’

I understand, but you didn’t fall, you flew.

‘I was scared.’

I know you were, but the fear didn’t win, you did.

‘I could’ve gone under.’

You could have, but you didn’t, you stood tall upon your feet.

‘It’s not a proud moment Mum, I was so scared.’

Precisely, my little lioness, why I am so very proud of you. Courage comes in so many forms.
xxx

Karen Hayward ©2016.

Lucky charm or call to death?

My Dad warned me about guys like you,
with your charming looks and eyes of blue,
your slippery tongue
and blind need for fun.
My Dad warned me of guys like you.
They canna keep it in their pants
he’d tell me gently so it wasn’t a rant.
They’ll end up riddled with STI’s
Stay away child, my Dad would cry.
I slipped into the blue pools of your eye’s
your charms magnetic, you didn’t need to try,
as you spun yarn upon yarn pulling me in
till that moment when my brain came up to breathe.
My Dad warned me of guys like you,
The charm he said, is never true.
Their colours show with time he said,
even willing to make a bet.
I broke the field of magnetic pull,
walked away when I wasn’t full,
you glared as I walked the floor,
Mumbled something as I shut that door.
Time moved the way it does,
In no particular incessant rush.
I saw you here, I saw you there,
not a glance to show you ever cared.
Years have passed and years have gone,
my Dad’s wise words are never wrong.
So much charm always another gal upon your arm,
never did you stop to think of the harm.
Riddled now with deaths calling card,
all those lives, it must be hard.
Spreading joy and love and death,
I thank the skies I upped and left.

Karen Hayward ©2016.

Watch the flowers bloom.

You drop the oppressive walls of your archaic

patriarchal system around me. Strip bare the

solitude, papers, other worlds, gathering dust.

Cotton sheets empty. You let the sun flowers die.

Draining the life from the dying seeds. You place

the wooden cage over me, give me the key,

and dare me to try. Sweetness seeping from your pores,

soothing the empty void. Your voice cold and distant.

You wear the smile of a sore loser. Fine china, cracked,

chipped, you’ll keep going till broken beyond repair.

Blooming beneath the spring sun,

cut down by your rotating blades.

 

Karen Hayward ©2016.

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 :).