Cursed cages. 

Must I carry the burden of my daemon at my side? Surely I can pick the golden thread stitches and set myself free of this treacherous power it holds on me.A shadow for Neverland perhaps, or maybe Satan will rise from the abyss to collect treasures found within, I have sold it him many times in darkened shadows of urine scented alleys for the dark secrets it possesses, perhaps he will come now as I shed myself of this torturous light. Yes, one stitch at a time I shall unpick the daemon that follows upon my shoulder a flaming phoenix she whistles a melancholic melody to the heavens or the hells, I no longer recognise. And without such a burden I shall reach for those stars that they say are outside of my reach, watch me, as I take what is mine to take, and leave behind the broken weepers that place upon me cursed cages of distraction. 
Karen Hayward ©2016

At your mercy. 

You’re a fire that burns inside of me in a continuous motion, always flaming, always flickering, always consuming it dominates at will a puppeteer control over my fingers, my mind, my body, today, puppeteer, I am at your mercy upon bruised knees amidst tattered fallen wings of grace, today I am at your mercy.
Karen Hayward ©2016 

Wings of the broken.

Straightening her arched back she stretches for the stars all too aware they are not within distance. The moon’s glow shimmering across her pale skin leaving a trail of glitter kisses in its wake. Shaking shoulders white, black and grey tufts of feathers float delicately onto a gentle breeze, the tide of change whistles a melody through the dancing leaves of eternal seasons. A star above twinkles, as great celestrial wings spread open upon her back. Eyes searching the horizon with the depth of an aging soul. She reaches again for the stars that are out of reach, smiling, knowing, she is a fallen angel and needs no one for she will rise to the heavens and dance among the stars an eternal introvert lost in the silence of the universe.
Karen Hayward ©2016