Lost in the forest of the unworthy.


I’ll whisper as I clamber through the thorns, blood trickling across my skin as my clothes snag against the branches.  The moons glow a haunting reminder of the darkness that surrounds me. Engulfing me like hands gripping my lungs, squeezing out all signs of life. I try to breath, suck in the air through my nose and beg to every God this land has. I see the sparkling green lights of Raphael, his fingers soothing my lungs as I gasp desperately for the stale poisoned air.The ground beneath me is wet, the mud sticky against my skin. I wonder if my knees are grazed and whether my blood has mixed with the dirt becoming one, whether I have become one with the dirt that hides deep in the forest beneath forgotten fruitless brambles. Following the trickle of illumination droplet beads of pearl white splinter across dying leaves before the darkness of the incoming storm devours the moon, the light, belief. This darkness grips my heart in an iron vice taunting that these chambers might beat in hope. But hope has long left this dwelling. The damp chill of the twilight hours barricades itself inside my bones. Soldiers using my soul as shooting practice, arrow after arrow piercing through me leaving behind small holes where only the darkness can be seen. A moss covered rock pulls me down as torrential rains fall from the sky, falling tears from the angels or punishment from the devil either way I place my head upon the rock and scream into the night in the knowledge that no one will hear me. I let my self break into millions of atoms and watch unforgivingly as they disperse into the atmosphere. Only they return, they always return. Uriel reaches out his wings to gather the essence of my soul his red light burning through the branches, his fingers catch my fallen tears as they crystallize into the green hues of Raphael. Clouds crash angrily together and rain beats to an inaudible tempo, I pull my bloodied, bruised spirit inwards. I hear them as they whisper, as they hear me, as the dark angels make their case in the loneliness of the abandoned forest of hope. It is perception versus self belief. Perception being the inevitable unchanging darkness that will forever swarm at my ankles leading me into the forest to clamber through the thorns. Eyes closed I listen to the emptiness as the rain begins to slow and the chill is drawn out of me. A fire radiating through my spirit I lay back against the rock tear open my chest and let the falling rains extinguish it. Owls hoot and spiders crawl across my skin as if I were just another broken branch fallen to the ground. Light from the moon creeps slowly through the branches trying desperately to reach me. Pulling my legs closer even the moons illuminating love cannot set foot upon my soul. The shadows creeping, long bony fingers grappling at my sole as they fight for a soul that was worthy of neither fight.


Karen Hayward © 2016


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