My soul feels in a constant state of chaos
and it feels like home. With odd socks
and mismatched undies, with pony tails,
plaits and wildly, messy, hair. Shrills
of delight as the stars warm the night.
What the world see’s as plain I see as
divine beauty, a snail and his broken shell,
a lonely pebal on the beach, a petal floating on
the breeze ignite fires deep inside of me that
otherwise lay dormant. I skip through the
seconds in the day searching for new flames,
some burn on recognition of the soul and refuse
to burn out, flaming slowly day after day without aid.
Others burn in a millisecond flooding my soul
with passion that seeps into my fingers and onto
the empty page. Some days I search tirelessly
but the blue skies sit behind a hue of white
clouds and my soul feels momentarily empty.
Karen Hayward ©2016