The reality of sleep

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We were Sat in utter darkness
just the orange street light
bleeding through the curtain edge.
We argued, as sisters do
Silence interrupted by voices
and her face is alight.
I ponder the doors existence Till I am stared down…
And the dream slips and moves.
Beyond the open door
I hear the tinkering of tools
sitting on the top step
I prepare to say sorry
A voice becomes voices
and the door is swung open
I’m smiling for a moment
Till I hear the clinky rattle
and the hand snaking though.
He is up the stairs, my stairs
his eyes angry, he is ranting
and screaming, a hammer
swinging… A sudden deep
awareness,
tonight I will feel the deep
wounds of a hammer smashing
Into my body…

Karen Hayward ©2017
#baddreams #nightmares #sleep

Thunder storms beating in your heart

There is a silence before rain falls
hissing through atoms, empty, threatening,
soldiers of nature crashing into life.

But what of all the crimson blood that spills?
I grasp at the lose threads of my shadow
as it splits, a fierce drum, beating, beating.

A blunt knife tearing heaving hearts chambers.
I count in my mind how many foot steps,
one for each sting of thunders dropping light.

One hundred? Two hundred? I estimate
five hundred. Five hundred shards of my soul
scattered through tiny drops of petrichor.

The earthly fragrance, natures pure blessing
and yet a curse defined in your young heart
but does it beat now rapid screams of need.

There goes another shard, sharp and glossy
outer glow of maternal lubricant.
If only I were your belief. Your hero.

Powered by the Gods, a new mutation
chemically, born to other planets. . .
I could slow the falling bullets of rain

Calm the orchestra of your blood playing
in your ears. I could transmit messages
skimming across the surface water drum.

Manipulate cloud and envelope you
in protective fluff mothers wings out stretched

I would fly the universe for you, dear
my spirit catching claps of blue thunder
between the falling tears of hell’s recluse

Karen Hayward ©2017

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Darkness swarms when sleep weeps

Darkness swarms at my soul
as the vivid moon drowns
beyond black storming clouds,
Distant screams.
Helplessness, pinned
by unseen
forces sucking life
from my tired
limbs.
The essence of
death pulling
at my chords,
strangulation
begging for air
as slumber tortures
my soul. As slumber
torches my soul.

Karen Hayward (c)2017

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The Rains Came

Photo

The rains came
without warning the
skies darkened and the
air hung fresh as she caught
droplets of cool rain in her mouth
letting them slip between her
flush pink lips tasting them
against her tongue
as they nestled
between the strands
of her untamed hair racing
down her face, sliding down her
neck, teasingly wandering into the
curves of her chest. Searing skin
tingling at the new sensation
of cold beads, erecting need
and heaving sighs
of relief.

Karen Hayward ©2018 Image and words

Bare foot stamping our mark upon this world…

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Skin wore the essence of summer,
Kissed by waves, embraced by currents
A taste of salt and golden glitter.
Hair a tangled web of curls
Yellow weaves of Destiny
ocean eyes deep and fierce.
Those days were our making,
Druid souls seeped in Poseidon’s kingdom.
Bare foot stamping our mark upon this world,
etched forever into spirits
energised by Helios,
soothed by Selene
caressed upon those shores
by the oceans ebbing love.

Karen Hayward (c) 2017

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Selene, be my light within my dark

Selene, are you here
for the whispers
of my waning soul?
As I slept beneath
your pearlescent beads
did you shroud
me from sight?
If I sit now and stare
upon your face
in the infinite depth
of darkness,
will you kiss me,
caress me, leave a
sheen of your energy
flowing through me?
As I wane will
you catch me…

Karen Hayward ©2017

Splitting the atoms of thyme

Time spent swimming in thyme
blue oceans of salted seas
flickering flames of warmth
and silence, just soft silence.
Like an eruption of chaos
volcanic lava spilling,
You rise, she rises
Noise erupts
Tiny atoms split
Split again
Split again
and split again
my deamon shatters among
this dark trilogy
of thought as thyme
fades, as time disperses
to become empty thoughts
in worthless verses.

Karen Hayward ©2018

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