i’m a muddle…

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I’m a muddle of repeated songs, odd socks and wild hair.

I care too much and yet care too little, i’m as fragile as a

porcelain doll that refuses to break when thrown against the wall,

but will chip at the slightest sign of mistrust.  My hands are

a battleground of clumsiness and my skin wears proudly

the pale hue of my heritage. My eyes truly are the windows

to my soul they whisper the secrets of pain I hide

and scream of the excitement rushing in my veins.

Yeah, i’m a muddle of chaos and calm, vivid and pale

rich, enigmatic hues of a wandering soul…

 

Karen Hayward ©2018

image and words

Till the ink becomes blood.

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If I could. . .

I would spend all day writing
And all night reading
Ideas evolving
And concepts breeding.
I would watch every sun setting
and see it as a new day seeding.
True soul nourishment breathing
My psyche feeding.
Beneath moons we’d sit kissing
the violent rush of our hearts beating
My pencils scribbling
Ink of need my pens drawing.
With time true art would begin thawing
an explosion of thoughts all storing.
An implosion of life breeding,
Happiness evolving,
I would spend all day writing
And all night reading.

Karen Hayward ©2017
Image and words