I dream of a sand filled setting sun.


Sun kissed skin,

eyes that sparkle blue

a hint of sun shimmering

on sea salt curls.

watching the setting sun.

Rays of golden heat traipsing

across my bare shoulder,

dancing through damp hair.

Sand covered legs,

shorts almost dry

skin prickling from the days heat.

Beside me, you.

As the sun drops from the skies,

the one that sees what I feel.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and words

Freddy and Jason.


Covered in blood I search for the light

as my dreams come alive in the dead of the night.

I feel his sharp nails as he claws at my skin

the veil between sleep is so very thin.

But Fred’s not alone, Jason’s, there too,

and I know in an instant my nightmares are true.

There’s no where to hide there’s no where to go,

covered in blood it’s a dream, oh I know.

But the nails are real, and Jason still comes,

and i’m losing my life as I try to out run.

A small little nick on my porcelain skin,

Freddy is dancing as the knife slips in.

They laugh as they pull gut after limb,

Tearing it out, pushing it in.

An ebbing death for fear to bring.

Karen Hayward ©2017.

Image found on pinterest.

When I wake 


When I wake from slumber in the twilight

hours I hear still your voice a soft whisper

on my skin.

An echo of need brought out from my dream.

The touch of your fingers stroking my thighs,

the taste of your lips,

the warmth of your body entangled with mine,

skin aglow,

candles flickering in the shadows,

dancing to a song of sin.

Lost moments as passion wins.

Pleasure escaping my lips in a perfect melodious

tune played by your fair fingers.

And I am lost in your eyes, in desires deep sigh.

And I am lost in your lips that devour my essence

on the tip of your tongue.

And I am lost in your spirit that whispers to mine.

And I am lost making love losing all sense of time.

Just us and the stars and a glorious moon

atomized love charged by desire,

defined on the tip of passions fire.

Image found on pinterest

Karen Hayward ©2016

Rose quartz of my existence.


Were you the rose quartz of my existence

radiating the heart aura of pure spirituality,

were you love?  Were you the silent whisper

behind my wings as I spread them and

flew into unchartered territories?

Hush, listen now,

I hear no angelic melody for I am alone at the

verge of forever.

Were you the essence of all that is pure

the transcendence of celestial energy

caressing my soul aeons through space and time?

Rhetorical ponderings.

Life is in the now, here within these shells,

the evolution of existence is reliant

upon us living, eternity is beyond our

scope and need not be considered.

Were you love?

Did you cocoon me from the haunting

callous reality of fantasies weakened

by a misplaced immunity and reluctance to grow,

the scars that weave through my beating heart say no.

Yet still I feel the residue of your essence as you step back,

and back,

and back,

I wonder do you see the cliff edge beneath

your running feet and when you fall,

will I reach out my blood soaked hands to catch you.

Lost souls touching in the darkness,

igniting ancient memories and as our last breath

leaves our body we shall recount these seconds

in the endless time of universal law,

feeling the scent of mortality upon our translucent skin,

tasting the epiphany of lust as we swim through

the countless faces of our past,

our future,

and we shall watch in trepid horror our impact

upon these innocent atoms and perhaps

we shall discover eternity is not ours to dream off

for we are the fallen,

the dark realms of nothing whisper our names

across constellations of the  long forgotten

fields of life scattered across time,

and there beyond the edge we shall

rot for days far beyond eternity.


Karen Hayward ©2016 (Image and words)



Beneath illuminated skies

waning moon and starless blues,

I ponder of home. The blessed place

that humanity yearns for.

The end to a search when all

walls have your name scrawled

across them in invisible ink written

before your first breath was even taken.

And I wonder where my walls are?

Is home a place?

Or are my four walls an endless sky,

a turquoise ocean,

two arms holding me.

Is home a place or a person?

Never to this day have I have known of home,

no safe haven,

no comfort zone that was mine,

no four walls with my name scribbled

upon them in permanent ink.

I wonder if ‘home’ is a dream.

Karen Hayward ©2016 (Images and words)

The seconds that form the minutes that form the hours. 

And I count the seconds that form the minutes  that form the hours when twilight is upon us. Only then beneath an ethereal moon may I pull above my head my armour and fall into the only realm in which I feel safe. Yet with all great falls their is the risk I will slip and tumble into the dark world of shadows…still I count the seconds that form the minutes that form the hours till I can sleep, dream. Till I can lose myself within my hidden realm and dream and dream. 
Karen Hayward ©2016

My dreams caught in a loop.


Rain fell against my window cleansing my thoughts

beneath a twilight moon,

my mind happily wandered deep in the realms of sleep, to you.

Caught in a constant loop I dreamed of love.

Your fingers against my skin your breath against my soul.

Slowly you tilted my chin, my eyes wandered across your face,

past those lips I have longed to kiss for so many days

and so many nights.

My eyes rise to meet yours

I am lost in the depths of your soul.

Your hand snakes across my hips,

down across my arse pulling me closer.

Slow, gentle, a single kiss.

A single moment that I will immortalize in time to recall at a moment’s wish.

I feel the heat rise to my cheeks, our surroundings became a blur.

A smile creeps onto your lips,

I wonder for a fleeting moment have I just revealed the secret to my blushes.

No words are used, no words are needed.

I see the beauty of me reflected in your eyes.

I feel the depth of us reflected in your kiss.

Your fingers in my hair and time pauses as we fade, disperse.

And the loop starts again, your fingers against my skin your breath against my soul.

Karen Hayward ©2016