love

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Category: poetry

To pick, to pick, to pick… 

One day I’ll tell you perhaps the way pain converts to fear deep inside of me. Some pains are too great, not worthy of the wound and disposable. A scab picked, prodded and thrown to the trash.

Some day, if pain permits, perhaps.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image found on pinterest. 

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Tick fucking to keep. 

Oh dear God your ramblings bore me, a tale written a hundred ways in the ink of yesterday’s prey with the shattered teeth of bairns, screaming atrocities of a life that isn’t fair!! And alas poor child your silver spoon has fallen in your pea green soup whilst casanova jesters locked away in your dungeons, fester!

Fuck, please, do tell me more of yourmacabre tales, your regal beliefs never failhow holy your mottled hollow soul must be, that you condemn all you fucking see!A tale of tantalising words of old, again told and again told and again told… Your silver spoon has fallen, your text book memory stolen, your man made penis swollen….yawn, even writing this is boring me…

KH©2017

Image found on pinterest 

Pistols at the devils dawn. 

With every passing 

second I become the 

essence of the devil. 

You create a masquerade, 

an illusion, 

I am the empty vial, 

the prostitutes vessal, 

a body with only a 

torn soul for survival.
KH©2017 

Daring to breathe 

ladyarmor

Between the static
and crackled echo
I wonder what It is
you hate the most,
My mind for
daring to fight?
Or my lungs for
daring to
breathe.

KH (c)2017
Image found on Pinterest

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

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 

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