Without the Rainbow Pieces.

Photo courtesy of Walter E. Gantt. ©2016

‘Pieces of a Rainbow.’

waltergannt

I feel a vast emptiness inside of me,

spreading through the black storm

clouds, I search for my Rainbow and

I recall you gave it away.

And I search  for my love

and I remember you gave it away.

And I wonder where is my passion

and I recall you gave up that too.

And I ponder the way we once connected,

perfectly synchronized

and I don’t even try as you gave that away…

And now I wonder what is left…

A future?

A future without love

without passion

without soul

…is a slow and torturous death.

Karen Hayward ©2016

Image used with permission ©Walter E. Gantt. 2016

Please see more of his amazing photography here on g+

His wonderful photography can also be

viewed and brought here at Fine Art America.

Deceit of a poet.

Emerald skies of burning blue as white tufts of wisdom float past on the rays of a flaming sun. Inspiration woke me before my eyelids fluttered and this mattered not for my eyes have not seen, truly seen since the last time my soul screamed from the other side to look. Ownership is the materialistic economy of a rich mans world and I am poor in possessions and rich in ownership. Floating particles of death shimmering in the morning light, freely rising, freely falling unaware of any fear. Words caught on the tip of my tongue that beg and beg to be spoken and if destiny is true if our map is drawn out in blotted ink before our soul even contemplates this life, then why fear unsaid words? If all of life’s fine events happen for a reason then I am free to utter thoughts of fantasy and reality and own my day. I am free to own these intrinsic words I splatter across the page that I pull from the empty wardrobe of lost hope covered in webs and crawling with spiders. Hearts break on the beating of the roach’s wings and shattered dreams are scuttled onto a breeze of dark shores. A poets self deceit cuts deeper than any mans lies. The creation of a story based upon a false prophecy stretched beyond the realms of reality searching for the nicks, nooks, crannies something to hold, to grab to elevate the soul toward the summit. The glorious summit, and I wonder why it is that I fight this need for the summit. A thousand definitions can be formed from the utterance of thoughts based upon chemicals. A million different ways to be and I have never been A typical. Blue is red, red is green and all the colours need to be seen and my heart beats. My heart beats and beats my stomach flutters as a swarm of bee’s buzz through my soul and I am okay with this. I do not fear living. Personal autonomy and the thought tank of morality hand in hand coding for that predestined reality. Free me. Put a label on this box and clarify the meaning of interactions. Thoughts, a maze of indifference in a storm of magma a molten mass of dissected words, cut and pasted letters, broken images from a a black and white stills devoid of colours that will one day become igneous. Rocks of life. Beaten down beneath the feet a thousand life soldiers, ground into the dust of oblivion and lost deep in the outer realms of space among the dying lights. But some, some have the power to become, to be the flattened stones skimmed across an ebbing tide, to be the crystals held close to our hearts, to be the stone we never throw and never look at that attracts dust the way it attracted you, in multitude in broken thoughts and fears of unknown origins.

 

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.

What is forgiveness.

What is forgiveness? I’ve spoke those words a thousand times over and still I search for peace. I’ve forgiven your knowing spiteful tongue, i’ve forgiven your chosen ignorance. I’ve worked tirelessly to hold together the slipping strings as you have pulled and pulled demanding respect for your title alone. I have shed tears in the darkness on the balance of your belief. I have stood alone day after day because you refuse to accept her. Pride, my pride was swallowed down the moment I became.Standing alone in the darkness with my pride, you have danced holding it up as though a trophy of my defeat, I forgive therefore I am naive, I am weak. I am without bitterness, I am without hate.I am beginning to wonder at what point I should close the gate. You are blinded by your own selfish beliefs. You are blinded by fear. Perhaps, forgiveness is meant for me, I cannot make you see, perhaps this time, forgiveness is meant for me.

Karen Hayward ©2015.

Universal electrons electrified in a catalyst of hope.

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.

Dear younger self,
If technology ever develops a way of somehow projecting this into the past, then I have something important to tell you. A few things in fact.

Follow your heart, follow your soul. Right now, society is telling you that to accomplish anything in life you have to be a certain way. This is a lie. Follow your heart; dye your hair, go goth, wear the sexy biker boots, wear jeans and hoodies and skirts with trainers. Wear what makes you feel good. Look different, wear your soul on the outside of your body.

Remember them, all of them.

Remember him. He will always be a memory.

Lost and afraid and filled with confusion you cannot see that one day you will proudly be the person you dreamed you could be. Better, you become an amazing human, you love truly and unconditionally to those that are worthy.

I cannot say don’t do this, or do that, because in truth, every thing we did growing up has made us who we are today. You do become.

A new day sings.

As night time ends and a new day begins,
there is a small pocket of time,
where I can spread out my wings.
In the silent rush of the eternal day,
As the stars die out
I can sit and watch the moons last play.
I feel as the darkness kisses my skin,
as the morning chill
searches within,
as the silence touchs the thoughts that it brings,
as one night ends and a new day sings.

Searching for my flowers.

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How can I write of beauty, when I am consumed with pain?

I cannot see the flowers, for I am drowning in the rain and

as my words fall to page, I want to swipe them back, and

still I am aware I am on my rightful track.

So I cannot see the beauty and I cannot feel the pleasure,

but believe me when I say, I am discovering what I treasure.

It’s not the easy path, it’s not the easy way,

but believe me, please, when I say,

I really am Okay.

The silence will not kill me it will not take my soul,

it’s the only way for me to reach my final goal.

You see, I really need to know, I really need to see,

what it is that makes, little old, pretty me.

So i’m searching in the rain, i’m searching through the storms,

looking for my flowers and avoiding deadly thorns.

Karen Hayward (Copyright) 2015.