Suffocating in a dew drop mist. 

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.

Incandescent love of rain.

I dash into the overgrown garden

to grab in drying washing as drops of

rain pebble across the pink fleece.

For a moment I pause and let the

coldness fall onto my face, eyes searching

the skies as this instinctual pleasure rises

in me. I must decide. The dry washing

or a moment spent in utter abandonment.

My soul wins again.

 

Karen Hayward ©2016