Once Free.

What is it that you see,

when you look down upon me

from your almighty throne

with your heart made of stone.

What is it that you see?

What is it that you see,

when i’m down on my knee’s

with tears in my eye’s

are you wishing I would cry.

What is it that you see?

What is it that you see,

when I fall down to the ground

soul broken open, I utter no sound

and you watch and you stare

wondering for a moment whether you

even care.

What is it that you see?

Can’t you at least tell me,

of the girl that flew high

through the blue emerald sky.

What is that you see

when you look down upon me

the cage and key?

or a soul once free?

An Angel Whispers as I Sleep.

The angels came to me when I was young

innocent still with thoughts un-song.

They told me of a universe,

that fell beneath a mortal curse.

The angels whispered in my ear,

‘What holds them back is another’s fear.’

Those angels came to me each night

told me often, ‘Follow the dark, follow the light.

For no path is wrong no path is right.

Though both of them may be filled with fright.’

I see the angels among our own

not sat up high upon a throne.

They walk this earth as if they’re us,

gliding slowly to avoid the rush.

They show us glimpses of memories gone

and show us right when we’ve gone wrong.

The path in front, the path behind

all of them tangles of our human mind.

Karen Hayward 2015 (Copyright)

Satan’s Pleasures.

Your God says I am damned to hell.
It happened the moment my halo fell.
Down on my knees with cum on my face
sinfully tempted by the devils taste.
Your God says passion is sin,
as I lay on my bed and ask if it’s in.
With fingers that touch and awaken the soul,
such a shame these are things that you’ll never know.
Your God says the body is shame.
I wonder does God watch as I touch where you came,
as he damns all of those that blaspheme his name,
a portal for the devil to lift God into fame.
Your God says don’t give into lust,
but the pleasures it brings is just such a rush,
I’m down on my knees, take it I must,
’tis the pleasures of life that I really do trust.

©Karen Hayward 2015.

Pink sky at night.

Pink sky in the morning is a shepherds warning
that storm filled clouds are forming.
Pink sky at night is the shepherds delight,
that his dreams will be filled with everything but fright.
A story to tell in the hue of the sky,
as day softly whispers a romantic goodbye,
and the shepherd he searches the sky as he thinks,
for the purples and reds and the all telling pinks.

©Karen Hayward 2015

Sir, look up please.

Old man, I see you as you cross the street,
Your soul it seems is truly beat.
You walk so slow and shuffle your feet,
always looking as if you need a seat.

Old man, I worry as you walk the road,
shoulders hunched you look so cold.
A fragrant breeze of musky mould,
a hidden look of things not told.

Old man, tell me please your tales of past,
what would I see if I looked through the glass?
The electric drained and you living on last?
I wonder these things when I see you pass.

Old man look up please see my smile,
I’ve not seen you now for quite a while.
I wonder will this be your final mile,
look up Sir, see my smile.

Every Soul Seeks.

When darkness falls and the mist, rolls, in,

my thoughts become so clouded.

The dusk of days gone and past pull me

into a love crazed, haze.

Blinded by words not uttered,

love not told, in that moment of separation,

no return.

For life rolls on as the mist comes and goes.

It always will, you’ll never be,

more then a drifting thought of the

morning sun. I couldn’t ask,

I couldn’t take, I can only hope

I made the choice that’s right for you.

As darkness falls and the thoughts roll in

I close my eyes and travel the years

to the tender touch and arms wrapped tight

to a lioness kiss and blushing cheeks,

back to that moment,

that every soul seeks.

The Time is Coming.

Some say they are immigrants out just for greed,

searching the atlas for a life they don’t need.

‘There’s no space here. Go there instead.’

To a tent in the rain with the cold for a bed.

All of them the same with one story to tell,

yet, we wake up each day, believing we live in hell.

The devastation is felt for the ones that have fell,

by the few that are willing to stand up and to yell.

I have bread I will share.

I have water to pour,

I am a soul, free

to walk out my door.

With shame in my heart

I look to their eye’s 

a world full of people

asking the why’s.

Why travel so far? Why leave at all?

Who cares for the slaughter or the children that fall.

Why come to us? There’s no room at the inn.

Turning them away is surely a sin?

A sin to a God forgotten and lost

belief in humanity is too big a cost.

The angels are counting the eternal loss,

of those that are watching, their hearts etched with frost.

I have blankets to share

and a space on my floor.

I am a soul, that

will open my door.

With pride in my heart 

I look to their eye’s,

they stand in the rain,

‘Help them.’ they cry.

These people aren’t wrong, there’s no answer to this.

It cannot be repaired by a soft tender kiss.

But we must open up to the angels that flee,

believe in the truth, not the greed that we see.

Our world is corrupt our future is bleak

as politicians destroy all those that are weak.

So I ask you just this, will you stand up and speak?

Or hide behind images designed for the meek.