Category: infedelity

Flowers in the attic where do you hide!

The feeling creeps in slowly.
Panic, as I flip through once, twice, three times. I search the normal places, beside  the bed, the couch, at the top of the stairs, by the window in the kitchen next to the heater, the window that shows me the sun as he wakes and the moon as she wakes. It’s not there and not even the sparkling stars in the clear skies can make me feel better. I search inside bags and tucked beneath the mattress, I pull out the bed and feel my heart sink, my eyes prickle and for a moment I question my sanity. What if. What if I didn’t own that book, what if I just borrowed it, that would certainly make sense and suddenly it feels like my world is crashing, I just want to read the book, now, I search some more determined to be sure that the book is at least not here. Emptiness envelopes around me, darkness falls upon my heart, I feel a great void where a story should be, not any story and certainly not a recall from the many times I have read it before, a void created through the lack of pages to turn, the lack of worn out paper in my hands. The emptiness has become me.

Karen Hayward 2015. ©

The web weaved.

The mind plays tricks upon us spinning a weaved

web of empty space filled by words and emptied by actions.

It creates a belief based on an inability to care

under the premise that everything is shared.

An intricate pattern thoughts crossing

an intersection of closeness

and those spaces disappear from sight.

But eyes are never closed and paths are always

created and there we find another web,

two perhaps and what was mine has now been shared.

A name created based on spoken words,

for you to me the silken path so delicately created

is destroyed.

 

Karen Hayward (copyright 2015)

Broken dreams and empty skies.

Speckled grains of broken dreams,

ripping holes in all i’ve seen.

Empty eyes, heart long gone

birds sing a lonely song.

My feet are bare against the grass,

how long will this emptiness last?

My skies are black and greying too,

as buds burst into a new.

As flowers scream into the light,

and the moon dances through the night,

and nothings wrong,

and nothings right,

my broken dreams are out of sight.

Karen Hayward (c) 2015.