Isn’t there an irony that to you I owe it all?
You uncovered a part of me in the devils hour.
Two souls, fragmented shards of yesteryear,
We were children dancing with the devils soldiers
Bound by scars of old that we painted across
each others skin, you were the innocent,
I was the sin. I didn’t believe, I didn’t see,
and your lies and indiscretion set me free,
whilst binding you to a cage of regret,
futures mapped, destiny set as you carried
into new days the broken fragments
of my soul
that I left shattered upon your door…
… Till time passed, lives moved forward,
Many sun rises, blue skies, spring rain glory
Promises made and broken.
Closure came unexpected.
I was chaos she was respectability
on paths chosen,
Only you saw my potential to be more
Yet, with self doubt you were out the door….
the catalyst moment that had me reaching for more.

I broke into a thousand shards of mistrust,
bled for my lust, died for my sins
fought bare hand your belief…
became the very thing you believed beyond me,
your choice set me free
no longer a soldier for the devils play
You uncovered a part of me that day
And as years passed and paths crossed
It was you crying now, for the love you had lost.

Karen Hayward ©2018

Every…

24.05.07 21:50
Every hour missed
Every minute skipped
Every dinner shared
Every drink, drank
Every moment gone
Every cartoon watched…
… A hundred times over,
Every tear caught
Every wiped nose
Every cleaned bum
Every ‘smell check’
Every teacher taught
Every twilight seen
Every dawn kissed
Every doctors visit
Every train ride
Every look of disdain
Every phonecall
Every kiss, gentle and soft,
Every held hand
Every squeezed finger
Every single piece of mess
Every missed bin
Every bomb hit room
Every made bed, remade
Every stubbed toe
Every piece of Lego
Every doll shoe
Every friend lost…
… Every friend gained
Every lesson learned
Every book read
Every song heard
Every sudocream moment
Every second spent
Every cry, stamped feet
and screams…

24.05.18 21:50
… is worth it.

Karen Hayward ©2018

wp-image-1183885807

If she were to close her eyes tight enough

hush the world.

If she could manage to think just lightly enough,

She can actually feel him.

She can feel a new depth to every word

that spills to the page,  they

really do now simply spill. No longer does

she stop and think and edit those sacred

inner thoughts, she hands them over to you

as though they were created

for you, always for you. She’s no longer sure

whether it is a want or a need that has her delve

into darker desires, with each line

she feels you deeper. She can feel now the way your

image climbs through her subconscious

searching for the speckles of light in the dark

and although the darkness entices them both.

You are there dispersing all shadows of doubt.

Whilst the darkness intertwines through the

light the two sides no longer fight. They walk

together, as your fingers explore what you

cannot touch her mind explores what could

not be rushed. She wonders what is one without

the other and which leads and which follows.

Do words of erotic tales lead to

temptation, to the darkness of an empty

void that now has light shimmering in. Or was

it always the hidden swarming feelings

that delivered them to this very page. She used to think

it were one and not the other, but

they both grew alongside, trust in one

created trust in the other, and although

she is not aware at any point of having created

this trust, it is there. It is there in abundance.

With every thought, with every word she can feel

the depth. And she cannot pretend to understand

or even to always accept. But she is intrigued

by the way it spreads through her whilst she stands

open, and she is intrigued by the darkness and

intrigued by the light. She often wonders what

it was that scared her, why she tried so hard to fight when

all she ever need do was close her eyes and know

that this feels incredibly right.

 

Karen Hayward (copyright 2015) Image and words

Sleeping wonder

It weaves across my skin
leaving a trail of goosebumps
runs its fingers through my hair
and dives deep within my dreams
Tugging at me, a low buzz pulling
at me, a cold vibration caressing me,
trapping me between worlds
slumber a hopeless dream in the
corner room, with its magnificent
essence of beauty by day… And
its unseen shadows at night.

Karen Hayward ©2018

Image from WordPress free library

Lucifer my sweet. 

Lucifer my dear come drink coffee at my side,

For the devil that you are, i know where you do hide.

Lucifer my sweetest take my sins I atone,

For a beg for just a moment upon your flaming throne.

Lucifer you rascal I feel your fingers twitch,

Satisfaction can be found deep within this itch.

Lucifer my darling, let me taste the devil’s cup,

For this angel bows her head, she’s had quiet enough.
Karen Hayward*© 2017

Give to me please my muse…

Photo

Give me paper to appease my soul and passion to fill my inkwell,

give me life flushed from living and drained from loving.

Give me pens, of many colors each one a speckle of my essence.

Give me a living canvas, breathing my air and tasting my spirit,

dust it in golden sun rays and ice it in moon beams to

sweeten the hidden depths of sin. Give me crumpled

edges and torn corners, ink blots and strike through’s.

Give me an endless ream with pause breaks for tears

and laughter lines tearing the core. Give me a hb pencil.

Chewed at one end and blunt, let it write my heart with

the smoothest of ease, love spilling through graphite,

lust splitting paper, let desire become the heavy lines

and fear the faint whisper of grey on white. Yes, give me

paper, a canvas, a living body to embody my soul upon.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and words.