Cinders of yesterday thoughts

My thoughts would likely
set ablaze the page,
Perhaps best I let them fester
In silent implosions
dot to dot conclusions
and solid doubt
of realities illusions.
Delusions
My thoughts would likely
tear holes through
constellations
rip apart solar systems
Redesign the universe
and yet, would
surely quench this
burning thirst
A cure for perhaps
mothers tongue, a curse.
My thoughts
My thoughts
My thoughts would surely
set ablaze the page
Crimson flow,
nature’s rage
Not wrong not right
Blinded by terrors sight
upon my tongue then
I shall bite,
whilst quietly waiting
for the emptiness
of night.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and words

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Propaganda spew

A burden of poison spills from your lips
truths once held become mans labourous chip, “And still they have not apologised”
I ponder who ‘they’ are and beg they
stand forward with their fellow man
and plead requital in united stand,
But alas ‘they’ do not exist
A figmant of propaganda how many times
must we say sorry for the sins of
our fathers?
My hands are clean of blood, my mind clean of hate,
And still you condemn me to the devils gate.
Poison spills from the devils lips
As you recreate little bits, history told
from the sight of the blind, for the deaf
of muted mind, so little truth there to find.
And we say show us the facts
And you say jezeebel, hinderer of truth
Lies, mudblood . . . “look how they refuse
to listen, refuse to repent for their sins”
And still I ask you show me these things.
Hate is a heavy burden for any heart,
And lest we ever forget the trampled chains of regret from a life dug in the past, we etch unity now in the minds of our crying bairns. But for all our
whispers of love you tell them of
a hate that belongs not of this time.
You twist a truth to fit a crime a minority report not yet conceived, by a future stained in the blood of your hate. Future generations stained not by history or apologies from non existent entities, future generations destroyed by the hate of your tongue, humanities personal civil war, man on fellow man with your
propaganda proposals and
puppeteer strings, yet no one stops to
ask, from where came this mans
deathly sting.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Likely set ablaze the page… 

My thoughts would likely
set ablaze the page,
Perhaps best I let them fester
In silent implosions
dot to dot conclusions
and solid doubt
of realities illusions.
Delusions
My thoughts would likely
tear holes through
constellations
rip apart solar systems
Redesign the universe
and yet, would
surely quench this
burning thirst
A cure for perhaps
mothers tongue, a curse.
My thoughts
My thoughts
My thoughts would surely
set ablaze the page
Crimson flow,
nature’s rage
Not wrong not right
Blinded by terrors sight
upon my tongue then
I shall bite,
whilst quietly waiting
for the emptyness
of night.

Karen Hayward ©2017

A trail of massacre in my wake.

redhairwings

Menstruating blood seeps through the

cracks of my hormones plunging me into the depths

of normality, to be female, so easily led by useless

emotions that spill across cheeks.

A jolt into reality to see what you see,

instead you show me the tainted

pages that already haunt my thoughts.

Aneath the crimson onslaught

I tear your soul from

words fought,

I leave a trail of massacre in my wake.

I leave a trail of massacre in my wake.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Words and image.

Fly warrior.

You chase the Diptera as though you are a warrior. I want to grab arms and fight you. I want to fight you as you spray poison onto my freshly cleaned surface, and you walk away. I want to declare war as you kick a towel to the side so it is no longer in your way…as if it were ever in your way. I want to fight you as you watch me, fighting, fighting to carve out of the chaos what is mine, but you don’t believe I am deserving and so you kick back, watching, waiting for me to fail, to give in. You have the TV waiting for me and are ready to teach me how to not see the world, you are the expert the master of clones. I want to fight you, my tongue bleeds from the indent of my teeth and my dark place lays unprotected today calling me in, whispering to me venom that spreads into my blood. I hear the hissing of the poison as you head back toward me. I sink my teeth back in and taste the blood as it spills down my throat.

Karen Hayward ©2016

Thunderstorm.

Storm clouds hung heavy throughout the day,
promising a cooler air, a clearer front.
The hinted promises that only a storm can bring.
Night fell and skies darkened,
flashes illuminating the flaws of existence.
Roaring anger filling the empty spaces.
Each lightening strike lit the skies,
tinted thoughts dispersing into the atmosphere,
Each deep clap of thunder energising the skies
as empty spaces become filled.
Till the storm passed
and clouds dispersed
and all I could see was a clear sky of twinkling stars

Karen Hayward ©2016