If people could see what they leak,
the way their emotions flow through
the atmosphere. The tears they
refuse to cry.
The pain they lock away for
a darker day.
It all leaks.
It skips across the breath of some,
dances through the mind of others.
Seeps into me.
If people could hear what their eyes say,
what the pause between their words tells me.
If people knew what they leak.
The excitement that flutters in my stomach with an unknown cause,
The heart that breaks over and over,
pain caught in my throat.
The fear, oh the fear that fills our souls that seeps from the psych invisible to
the naked eye.
If people knew what they leak.
They’d understand why I seek solitude,
why my mind is so very open
to the possibilities.
If people knew what they leak they would know why it is I am open and closed in a single heart beat.
Karen Hayward © 2016.
Zadkiel I call upon thee now to give clarity to a final deed, did I turn my back on a soul in need? Is forgiveness the acceptance of even the broken, no matter how harsh their words spoken? Must I forgive time and time again whilst they sprinkle down hatred that fills me with pain?
Zadkiel, can I forgive, forget and move on? Can I forget the shock in their voice as I questioned their choice? Was I wrong, should I have remained strong? Am I not her protector, is it not my duty to shield her? Was it selfish, did I put her ahead of their needs when they are so desperately in search of the broken seed? Zadkiel, I am lost and in fear, I searched for you but could not see you near. The words flowed with surprising ease as I watched her fall to her knee’s. Her beliefs torn apart, her thoughts questioned she stumbled upon lies a clouded darkness fell upon her eye’s. Chance and chance again, Zadkiel, I gave in and before my eye’s grey scale fell and I saw as I never seen before,
and now her role within, is no more. Zadkiel, I ask for clarity and forgiveness reserved for the strong, is my heart right? Did I do no wrong?
Karen Hayward © 2015.
The conservation of energy so that I may survive,
a colony of destruction no shadows in which to hide.
Darkness fell and flames flared,
the corruption of memories never truly shared.
Oblivion denied frolicking with hate,
an illusion of pretence to celebrate.
Automated response clicked into place,
I wonder if I can wander without leaving a trace.
Silence erupts from the neck of brown glass,
repetition the new pattern learnt from the past.
I’ll sit for a moment take heed of the day,
before resting my body in the bed where I lay.
I’ll look to the window where the moon does glow,
I’ll ask her to help me so that I may grow.
I’ll speak with the angels and beg them for strength,
Metatron will show me in my dreams at great length.
I’ll listen to the silence as it screams into life,
Piercing reality like a sharpened knife.
No words I will say and you know this is true,
You’ve trampled my dreams
and I have nothing new.
Karen Hayward 2015©.
You spoil my silence with your incessant voice,
a cat being strangled whilst you jump for joy.
Banging and jumping and so called singing too,
I wish I could record this, so you can listen to you.
Your voice is like poison
Addled with drink,
It penetrates through to the place where I think.
Your whoops and you screams
Seep curiously into my pleasant dreams.
Please let’s make an alliance,
you’re poisoning my precious fucking silence!
Whispers in the breeze of yesterdays thoughts
I dream of a sanity that I have often sought.
As I look to the skies for the light that shines north
and I think of the beauty left uncaught.
I dream of a day where humanity goes forth,
where loneliness is felt no more
and poverty is no longer a disease of the poor.
All this in the whisper of a breeze along the shore,
a knowing that I will one day arrive at that door.
Karen Hayward ©2015.
I only ask that you listen;
I only ask that you hear,
these things may seem tiny,
but, they create so much fear.
I only ask that you look;
I only ask that you see,
stop looking for disruption
not all kids up and flee.
I only ask that you touch;
I only ask that you feel,
put your feet in my shoes
and know that it’s real.
Karen Hayward (Copyright) 2015.