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Category: thoughts

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

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Caged in a cage of a cage.

Whispers in the darkness

away from sight,

venom struck beliefs.

Long gone exchanges

of love that defined us.

You hover at my side

waiting for my demise

so you can celebrate in

triumph that you were right.

Egg shells surround me,

shards of glass cover the

ground upon I walk,

my blood is spilling my

spirit leaking,

my fight is going.

I ponder the worthiness

of my dreams,

there is no light.

My own ego my only fight,

but we all know the ego is rarely right.

You break my voice so I cannot speak,

you steal my thoughts so I cannot think,

you poison my mind with your darkness

a self imposed cage you are the key,

cast iron heavy at my neck you pull me down,

you keep me down.

Perhaps you are right,

I reach for stars that are not mine,

for skies outside my reach.

You need only break my resolve

for I have nothing and I am no one,

I have no where to run.

This darkness you shroud me

in is the scars upon my soul,

your branded beliefs of me.

How very silly of me to believe

I was capable of standing

when I fall at every hurdle,

when I trip at every stone,

how very silly of me to have not noticed,

your cage upon me has simply grown.

Karen Hayward ©2016

Without the Rainbow Pieces.

Photo courtesy of Walter E. Gantt. ©2016

‘Pieces of a Rainbow.’

waltergannt

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.

Naked fury. 

The impulsive abandoned 

rush of excitement as anger 

roars through the skies around, 

as nature crashes, 

and our bodies entwine in naked fury.

Wave upon wave of pleasure

releasing from the core of my

being, need spilling into

my fingers, stroking, feeling. 

Thirst building from within

as fingers explore my inner

pleasure. 

In your eyes I see flames 

of passion roaring to the

surface, yours, mine, ours. 

Soaring heat burning in the essence

as it slips between my lips,

as I peak, convulsing, releasing,

as you hit the back of my throat,

as it creeps through my soul,

as I swallow it down,

as I spill across your fingers. 

The essence of our souls 

dancing in blind fury 

among the crashing waves of natures force.
Karen Hayward ©2016
 

Untitled.

I scan a lifetimes vocabulary for the right words,
I mentally rewind through the stories I have read, I search Shakespeare’s sonnets and tales of love,
I wonder if Chaucer can help or perhaps even Austen,she knew her stuff!
I consider Miss Havisham’s yellowing dress in the timeless room
symbolic of her love for he that would never return soon.
But Shakespeare nor Dickens nor Austen or Chaucer, created anything that transcends the oceans.
I replay every love song that my soul has sung along to, searching for emotions,
I search the melodies for the lyrics of the song
I search the beat for the answers but they’re wrong
I listen to the greats whose greatness have grown
I listen to the nameless, the newbies, the unknowns
I listen to the ones that repeat in my heart every day,
but you’ve heard them all before, they’re what you always play.
Perhaps I’ll search a lifetime to find the perfect way,
at least by then you’ll truly know, my love would always stay.

Karen Hayward ©2016

Whistled.

Songs sung in the whispered notes of a lovers whistle.
Among the luscious blooms of a spring morn,
As dark skies loom bidding farewell,
And the burning sun loses her shell.

A moment spared in time.
The solitude of Mothers earth
and God’s creation.
The silent faces and listening hearts,
As joy is sung and love is danced.

The carefree flight from branch to nest,
A chorused melody of love piercing the melancholy.
Whistled songs of unknown words,
A calling back to say they’ve heard.

Karen Hayward ©2016.

Naked thoughts upon a summer breeze.

One day I will wake up and I will have forgotten.
I will have forgotten to hold back my thoughts and they slip from my lips with natural ease.
I will have forgotten about the wall I placed around myself, brick by brick, and I will walk straight through it unharmed.
One day my thoughts will become words and I will not notice as they tumble onto the breeze.
One day I will forget and the last mask will fall again and I will be bare.

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.

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.

The Black Veil.

The creation of distance an elaborate wall of defense indestructible, impregnable. The seeping residue of desire eliminated on sight. Just the slip of the tongue an inkling of fun, in the harshest of lights I find this new sight.  Freedom of sorts exploration of thoughts, no tie to reality my speciality. Follow me into the depths of despair, in the shadows you’ll find someone to care, a troll a monster or darkness itself. Walk with me through the hollow shells, where once sat a heart that often did swell. Let me use you and take you I promise it’s true. The honesty found in the erective salute and the white flaming juice that you’re able to shoot. Play the strings, strum them, listen as their melody fills the air and know for a moment that you are there. Hope for a moments recognition in the blinking of an eye,  see the emptiness recognised by only the sky. Sheets covered, sticky and wet, a moments pleasure you might try to forget. It follows you around in the depths of your mind, a curiosity of what creature you’ve found. Emotive humans slave to their thoughts always seeking what they believe to have sought. Spiteful words, indignation to the free soul that constantly needs out for an elaborate stroll. Walks filled with passion, fingers that roam, thoughts that are free to imagine,  yet blinded in the caves of repression. A divide, a slither of time where darkness hides. A slip of the foot, a slide of the toe changes the results of the black lace show. Bodies hanging from the butchers hooks desire congealed in realities nook. Flesh and blood and bone, alone. Alone. Aesthetically pleasing until the flesh will rot, bones will crumble, blood will dry and no one will utter goodbye.

Karen Hayward ©2016.