Snow saunters gently…

Dawn has woken to a wedge of white snow,
Blanketing proudly before my waking eyes
The morning glimmer of crushed diamonds glow,
and birds huddle quietly in empty skies.
Silence rings out in bells of emptiness,
among the stilled monochrome dawning day
the fallen flakes of colds existence
have owned the dark of night through thoughtless play.
In this moment, only I and he exists.
Helios still lays deep within slumber
The skies are heavy, awkward, threatening,
and there, the knitted weave of white, Jack’s number
lays tauntingly snug across window screens
It snowed, wee blankets of love on sleeping cars
so few flakes, laying restless in the dark…

Karen Hayward © 2019

Image and words

Hidden within her burning heart

Photo

That’s where I want to be. In the center of that flaming heart of warmth. I want the suns embrace, her arms around me holding me tight and blocking out the darkness. I want to turn my back on the world for just a moment, to bathe in her love, for her energy to seep into my life force. I want to feel the flames burning in my blood. I just want the ride to stop whilst I catch up, I want to sleep warm and safe. I want to be in the center of that flaming heart.

Karen Hayward (©2015) Image and words

Morning sonorous

The street lights have long gone out and cars whizz across full puddles as clouds continue to drip drop drip drop into over flowing drains
Silence always sounds the same, night could be any day
There’s a rumbling roar and clitter clatter as it starts and stops a white beam of light penetrating the freezing rain as an old staple steps out of the history books milk bottles in hand with foil tops, thick cream and deathly cat stares waiting, wishing, hoping. The silence tastes like the black clouds, heavy and full of apprehension clinging to the muted song of restless sleep. The insomniacs stir, wipe away the sandman and let these empty hours embrace their feeble, screaming hearts. These are the hours of love, with lost walls and sleeping knights, rusted swords and broken arrows, the maid Marian’s of nights trembling caress and only the milkman is brave enough to trespass across their plane of safe harbour…

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image downloaded from Google

Jack be nimble, Jack be quick

On silent whispers of Jack’s
nimble fingers she feels the frost
clawing at her innocence. Blind
eyes and deaf ears, the street
dancers set eyes on prey, and
move and swing, in ancient ways.
As Jack’s nails etch and sketch
permanent scars upon the souls
delicate skin, this veil, oh so thin.
Oh so thin, as darkness frosts
and etches…

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and words 

The whispered call of Dawns song…

Shh, I listen to the empty echo of 6am,
tiredness still in my eyes,
A vast sky whispering promises of light
Lonely cars splitting atoms dividing night.
I look along my road, dead lights, no life
as people sleep dream and wish for more time.
Grim has been standing guard over old man’s wife,
But he doesn’t take her, not here tonight.
Still age creeps in, always arriving at first light
Red and blue glows illuminating the site.
My sky is starless the moon is bidding goodnight,
Too late for more sleep, tiredness settles in my waking eyes.
Shhh, I sit and watch the morning skies.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and words 

To Whom does 5am Belong…

Has never been certain
if 5am belongs to the night
and his shadows.
A tinker, fixing the broken fragments
of my mind that shatter
on impact of thought…

… Or if it belongs
to peace of mind on morning
song bird, a symphony
of love before reality
takes another bite.

I wonder does it even matter
A moment between the worlds
the sun is yet to rise
so I sit talking to grey
melancholy skies…

Karen Hayward ©2018

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