The cracked remnants of tomorrow’s dreams

Can it be that love exists ‘neath blue skies
between the forest green vines of ivy
or on ancient mists of a moonlit sea
I find a tomorrow deep in his eyes
the speckled remnants of new paths aligned
between the broken cracks of history
a presence preserved in serenity
my love dances with singing butterflies
on nights empty echo and fierce rhythms
Our Selene hears the whispers of my soul
Whilst I drown in pearlescent kisses
configuring broken algorithms
beneath these blue skies I am whole
wondering about loves existence.

Karen Hayward ©2018 Image and words
First attempt at a *#Italianpetrarchansonnet*

I am the swirl,

the turn and the mix,

colours blended,

way beyond fix,

I am the screams,

the pierces of light,

I am the silence

I am the flight.

I am the flurry

instrewed upon sight

the westward sun

and the abandoned night.

I am the silence

out just for kicks

I am the swirl

the curve and the flick,

I am the swirl,

the curve

and the kick.

Karen Hayward ©2018 Image and words

Lucifer my sweet. 

Lucifer my dear come drink coffee at my side,

For the devil that you are, i know where you do hide.

Lucifer my sweetest take my sins I atone,

For a beg for just a moment upon your flaming throne.

Lucifer you rascal I feel your fingers twitch,

Satisfaction can be found deep within this itch.

Lucifer my darling, let me taste the devil’s cup,

For this angel bows her head, she’s had quiet enough.
Karen Hayward*© 2017

Give to me please my muse…

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Give me paper to appease my soul and passion to fill my inkwell,

give me life flushed from living and drained from loving.

Give me pens, of many colors each one a speckle of my essence.

Give me a living canvas, breathing my air and tasting my spirit,

dust it in golden sun rays and ice it in moon beams to

sweeten the hidden depths of sin. Give me crumpled

edges and torn corners, ink blots and strike through’s.

Give me an endless ream with pause breaks for tears

and laughter lines tearing the core. Give me a hb pencil.

Chewed at one end and blunt, let it write my heart with

the smoothest of ease, love spilling through graphite,

lust splitting paper, let desire become the heavy lines

and fear the faint whisper of grey on white. Yes, give me

paper, a canvas, a living body to embody my soul upon.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and words.

Black skies of pearlescent kisses

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It is in between lost moments of hazy thought

That tender whispers embrace delicate flow

Beneath a canopy of lost hope and jasmine scent

Encompassing all I know.

Gingerly lacing love with lust, flames burning

Igniting ancient needs in ceremonies of soul appease

Neath blackness of pearlescent kisses and forever voids

Skies of truth, skies of love, skies of lust.

 

Karen Hayward ©2018

Image found via wordpress library

A Glimpse at the Ride.

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Some people come into our lives forever,
Some just so we may catch aglimpse of our soul.
They put us on the right path,
They’re a beacon of light on the darkest nights.
They show us the dreams that we do not see.

They say we walk the earth with the very same souls.
Each life, Each time, repeating a pattern,
repeating a crime. With each familiar echo
our soul connects. Sometimes with laughter,
sometimes with kindness, sometimes with love and
sometimes the knowledge of having it tough.

And in among the de ja vu
you discover the missing piece of you.
The mirror reflection; bits gone,
without detection. An image of your dreams
your heart, your soul. Everything new but everything,
you already knew.

The twin flame doesn’t bring Love, lust,
or salvation. A twin flame whispers in your ear,
that they are always near. No matter how far,
even the furthest star. They show you your path.
They are love that is unseen, they are the reason you dream.
They are not the missing piece, of your soul, they
are you. And they always knew, as did you.

They are the fire in your flame, listen
as they whisper your name.
They are the light that leads you into the night.
They are not the love that fills your thoughts,
they are the breath that gets caught.
Throughout our days, they say,
that our souls will meet, and filled with
heat, we will know.

Some will grow old, along by our side,
Some come along, for a glimpse at the ride,
some of them unknown,
away they do hide.
All of them
here for a moment
at our sides.

Karen Hayward (Copyright) 2015.

Image and words

Controversies of a phallic belief

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…and now you believe you know my story
the controversies of your phallus ideology
fearing the void of a blood soaked page,
etched markings of scars left to age,
tear-less, these eyes lay dry
haunting the clouds of a melancholy sky.
choking life from collapsed veins.
memories of when the floods last came.
An empty vial, a constructed belief
an idiots guide to phallic relief.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image found on Pinterest