Poor no more.

A tale of the times,

of unspeakable crimes.

The rise of his word,

above the screams can be heard,

from the tops of the buildings

where they watch for the killings.

The poor on the ground,

what a muttering sound.

Confused and alive,

no one hears their cries.

They’re not the poor of the poor,

they’re the poor that did more.

They worked all the hours,

grasped hold of the power.

They bettered themselves,

looked after their health.

And the man on his throne

did not see as they roamed,

as they heard and they saw,

what it was to be poor,

in this world full of law.

So they rose,


nobody knows.

They stood side by side,

refusing to hide,

held their heads up on high,

no longer they sigh.

They screamed through the tops,

battled the cops.

There was one there was two,

the numbers soon grew.

A revolution of sort,

some of them caught

held up in a cell,

still they did yell.

The coming was soon,

at midnight? at noon?

The poor had a voice,

the poor made a choice,

they were poor,

for sure,

but they knew what they knew,

were no longer a few.

Together they stood,

as they always should

an abundance of mass,

they had listened in class.

They stood for it all,

they refused to fall,

the poor are the poor,

one day,

no more.

The roar amongst the brambles.

You cannot follow where I must go,

the days are long, the nights are slow.

Darkness forms inside my head,

even Satan fills with dread.

Heart fuelled by love alone,

weakness gone, my strength has grown.

Feathered wings of dawn and dusk,

the soft scent of eternal musk.

spirit soarsĀ for this ride,

take cover, go please, and hide,

for the lions roar inside my mind,

refuses now, to be ever kind.

Karen Hayward (Copyright 2015)

My shield of feathered purity.

My feet firmly on the floor,
as the future knocks feverishly at my door.
My past pleading, for a moment more,
this journey has left my body sore,
By night, my dreams are filled with blood and gore.
I worry my heart will never thaw,
in love and trust I will be poor.
No shining knight upon my shore,
but at least the devil wins no more,
as my shining angel keeps perfect score.
Each day I rise,
my feet
hit the floor.

God of the sea.

I walk upon
a sandy shore,
tide ebbing,
a tantalising allure.
Mermaids sing,
of days gone past
answering questions,
long ago asked.
Fairies of the sea,
dance through the pools
of gold dust, free
as they live by the rule
of the gods of the sea.
Sun beating down
upon my skin,
illuminating the crown
of his majesty the King.
Upon my knees,
I bend and pray
set me free,
I promise I will stay.

Karen Hayward (Copyright) 2015.