Entwining through forgotten hemispheres. 

What now of lovers forgotten stem

that roots me to the essence of them

On kisses brow, 

not then, 

not morrow,

Not a second wasted, but now. 

For is our bond not of rarest gem? 

What lingering thoughts

a constance in my battleground mind

Yet, in peace and calm in you they find.

A lovers map of fate

destined paths leading, winding, twirling

through the undergrowth of survival

Till upon a greying day

stems become vines

Vines… Entwine

and the universe whispers

that you are truly

Mine.
Karen Hayward ©2017 image and words 

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Controversies of a phallic belief

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…and now you believe you know my story
the controversies of your phallus ideology
fearing the void of a blood soaked page,
etched markings of scars left to age,
tear-less, these eyes lay dry
haunting the clouds of a melancholy sky.
choking life from collapsed veins.
memories of when the floods last came.
An empty vial, a constructed belief
an idiots guide to phallic relief.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image found on Pinterest

 

So little control…

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So little control we have in this world.
I cannot control the weather,
when it rains, it pours, people
get wet and puddles form.
But I can choose to turn my head
to the skies and dance in those puddles.
I cannot control time.
It slips by in a beat of my mind,
grains falling, lost,
forgotten moments
as age creeps upon me.
But I can chase moments, savior time
and live within the seconds.
I cannot control the vicious spite
of a broken soul wallowing in the
Black ink of a victims role, chip
firmly etched upon their shoulder.
No, so little control we have in this
world, the broken will hunt,
kill and gather, and for what? For even this
broken world can see through the
Vicious veil.
I cannot control the actions of another…
I have control only of myself and I can decide to end the cycle.
Hate doesn’t have to breed hate…
And this does not make one weak,
for only the strong stand against societies sheep.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and words

Suffocating in a dew drop mist. 

Some days I beg the
mist to fall and
suffocate me,
to swallow whole what
freedom I am afforded
and drown
those things
I am not permitted.
To choke from me
my bitter tongue
that longs to spit
flames at your
scornful eyes.
To lay surrender
the pure essence
of my soul and sell
myself to the devils role
lost in vengeful wars
I shouldn’t fight,
Some days I do not
feel worthy of
these wings, or my
need to take flight.

144,000 lights. 

144,000 lights all flickering
to the beat of another’s purpose.
Lighting the dark corners of ego,
dispersing yesteryears fear
cleansing the broken and
healing the scarred. It is their
purpose. Born to give light in a
world of shadows.

Clarity of thought awareness
purpose swarms in their essence.
I have been purpose, time and time
again I have lit the shadowed path
of the lost and wounded, patched
together the ashes of their
hearts burned and souls scorched.

Sometimes at twilight, myself and Selene,
I ask her does she know, will my purpose
always be so. Her response the same night after dark after night. Her whisper
the silent pearl droplets of love she kisses
upon my skin as she sings a twilight lullaby. Yet, never do I hear her answer.

144,000 lights switched on, each a designed purpose, vessal of aid, beacons
illuminating the way through the darkness that has become us. Unconditional love…but who will love them in return.

Karen Hayward ©2017
Image found on pinterest. I have no claim. 

Kissed by loves desire. 

Let me fall into pools
of darkness kissed by golden
rays of the falling sun
and peer momentarily
into your soul.
Stroke your fingers
across the soft curve
of my neck, feel the
delicate essence of
my porcelain skin
beneath your wandering
Hands as you grasp me
within your hold.
Pull me into your torso
let me feel the beating of
your heart as your arms
press into me and your
lips search for the
tender kisses that fall
between carnal need,
between abandonment
between love and lust
and desirous want.
Hold me, tight,
within the realm
of always, whilst our
bodies merge, and
our lips search and
our tongues explore
the taste of one another’s
souls.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and words