To pause the beats

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I need you… More than need.
I need reality to pause,
the neck of times glass
to close tight
for us alone.
I need a blanket
A cloudless sky filled with
infinite stars and cushions
one or two or ten
and your voice traveling
the shortest distance
between your lips
and my ears.
I need silence to hear the
rapid thumps in my chest
and solitude so I can love
you in abandonment.
I need to know all the
things that make you,
You.
Childhood games, teenage
fancies and adult flames.
Paths walked and journeys
taken, lovers held the worst,
the bes….no scrap that last one.
I want your stories between
kisses on the moons
full blessing, I need your tales
whispered on the curve
of that voice that embraces
my inner need.
I need you.
All that makes you.
I need your essence
embracing me in nights
whispers, your kisses
enticing my spirit to soar
and more.
But I need your tales and
stories that set you my way…
Our constellation of life
that led to times glass
neck closing,
for us. Yes, I need that.
I need you.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and words

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Angry skies of Satan

#acrostic *#poetslineprompts*

Angry cries from Satan’s soldiers
Negotiating the flames of hell
Grueling screams of deaths call
Redemption, a forgotten whisper
Yonder sinful haze of a broken soul.

Skies where once were blue
Killing innocence in crimson
Iridescent drops of life
Eye of sin, perpetual strife
Sinister the angry skies.

Karen Hayward ©2017 Image and wordsimg_20161110_142542.jpg

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The sky is filled with melancholy
clouds crying lost tears of hope
into a world that shall today
die, for the end is nigh again, an
algorithm of numerology and
Lost planets skipping through
space. Sadness falls from the skies
into a heavy hue of indifference.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and words

Swallowed beyond oblivion.

seamist

Some days I beg the
mist to fall and
suffocate me,
to swallow whole what
freedom I am afforded
and drown
those things
I am not permitted.
To choke from me
my bitter tongue
that longs to spit
flames at your
scornful eyes.
To lay surrender
the pure essence
of my soul and sell
myself to the devils role
lost in vengeful wars
I shouldn’t fight,
Some days I do not
feel worthy of
these wings, or my
need to take flight,
feeling only the
heavy burden of
your silence as it
chokes me in
your warped
perception.
Some days I want
the mist to
take me…

Karen Hayward ©2017

The Peacock dances.

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There’s a repetitive stage,
a repeating of days
when vines interweave
through the speckled
edges of flirtations,
behind no closed doors
peacock feathers
splay upon her shore
through the speckled
flecks of essence
life’s laborious lessons,
I watch the clock
tick tock, tick tock
as zones align a duo
of wakefulness sleeping
through the empty
page…a constellation
of energy mapping
the designed reflection
of the peacocks
beautiful… selection.

Karen Hayward ©2017
Image found on pinterest