The twilight seconds of an empath

The Twilight Seconds of an Empath

At hours past when lingers only twilight,
The owl, my companion guards my nights
His call an ancient song of remembrance
a message from Selene of transcendence.
Among the vast emptiness of life
the tangible moment between seeing and sight
when eyes closed I hear, I see I know,
The universal energy at perfect flow
Alone, is that moment, when voices I hear,
closed eyes and faces so near.
I’m told it is a gift to see and hear and feel,
It is an existence all too real
and when I say I think you… then know
you are, you will, you do…
For we are just energy…
And I have a front row seat for the show
for that is my reality.

Karen Hayward ©2018
Hosted by the amazingly wonderful Mr +Dennis Gatheright#poetsphotoprompts

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Purging the ancient voice of truth

chaos

Some people eat to purge
They devour platefuls of
Love, spoonfuls of hate
Bowls spilling with disgust.

Some, drink vodka, gin
Whiskey and bottled beer
Swigging back pain
Sipping on indifference.

For some, it is one more
run, sprinting back the tears
Curling the fears, stretching
the broken fragments clear.

I purge on the dark recesses
of my skull, pull away at
silver threads, devouring
memories made to break.

I lose myself in the silence
of melancholy let it swim
naked through my veins
Tearing me with each stroke.

I let each one fall, tasting the depth
of their essence, let it
ricochet through me in
forgotten undertones of being.

I purge myself through the
Lost memories of my ancient
voice, capturing them within
A moment, then release,
as my lungs breathe and my
eyes smart at the purging.

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image found on Pinterest

a genetic mutation…

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I sometimes wonder, am I wrong?

Am i wired faulty,

do I have a genetic mutation a

neuro-developmental glitch.

For no matter how hard I try,

I cannot see the world through

positioned eyes.

Words fail to slip from my tongue in

control of another,

I do not perceive a finishing line

that I must cross, or a spiritual path

that I must bless. I will not use my

gift to harm others…No matter what

weakness I know to be true, never will

I use them to hurt another like you.

My fault lays within, it’s the power to feel,

when pain has been felt,

it changes your view.

A mutation

a glitch

a malfunction of sorts,

to perceive beyond normal thoughts,

it’s a burden I carry into each day,

to know the reasons for what others say

is the reason I rise at the break of each day.

 

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and words

144,000 lights. 

144,000 lights all flickering
to the beat of another’s purpose.
Lighting the dark corners of ego,
dispersing yesteryears fear
cleansing the broken and
healing the scarred. It is their
purpose. Born to give light in a
world of shadows.

Clarity of thought awareness
purpose swarms in their essence.
I have been purpose, time and time
again I have lit the shadowed path
of the lost and wounded, patched
together the ashes of their
hearts burned and souls scorched.

Sometimes at twilight, myself and Selene,
I ask her does she know, will my purpose
always be so. Her response the same night after dark after night. Her whisper
the silent pearl droplets of love she kisses
upon my skin as she sings a twilight lullaby. Yet, never do I hear her answer.

144,000 lights switched on, each a designed purpose, vessal of aid, beacons
illuminating the way through the darkness that has become us. Unconditional love…but who will love them in return.

Karen Hayward ©2017
Image found on pinterest. I have no claim. 

The unsung song of angels.

The angels came to me when I was young

innocent still with thoughts un-song.

They told me of a universe,

that fell beneath a mortal curse.

The angels whispered in my ear,

‘What holds them back is another’s fear.’

Those angels came to me each night

told me often, ‘Follow the dark, follow the light.

For no path is wrong no path is right.

Though both of them may be filled with fright.’

I see the angels among our own

not sat up high upon a throne.

They walk this earth as if they’re us,

gliding slowly to avoid the rush.

They show us glimpses of memories gone

and show us right when we’ve gone wrong.

The path in front, the path behind

all of them tangles of our human mind.

 

Karen Hayward 2015 (Copyright)

Narcicist .

I recently had the pleasure of sharing private messages with a narcissist. By pleasure I mean soul destroying energy draining horror. I wouldn’t normally choose to communicate with such a person but in this case my eye was off the ball and before I knew it he was under my skin. I blocked him. Yet his presence has continued to annoy me. The fault lays entirely with me my intuition screamed at me that there was something wrong about this person, but this clashed with my beliefs that we shouldn’t judge a person on first impressions….what the fucking hell was I thinking!  I communicated with him for just under a week and in that time he shared anger, gas lighting, manipulation, obsessiveness, a desire for power and control as well as an ability to wield that power and control. All of these emotions convert to energy as an empath I pick up on that frequency of energy….the problem with this is that most other people can’t , so his public posts just appeared to them as harmless, quirky as us writers are, but harmless. Of course in his pm’s he was able to explore my vulnerabilities with more vigour, but it was also there in his public posts and replies. I should have been able to shake him off but the reality is his clear disrespect toward me has highlighted my vulnerabilities and taken me into a place of questioning. Amazing how quickly a narcissist can get in and fuck with your head. In short he disrespected me as a female writer, us females are already fighting enough stereotypical crap as it is we don’t need individuals to play along too. He did this in a number of ways, covertly communicating in such a way that he expected me to not notice. I did notice. The vulnerabilities he highlighted have been dominating my mind and pushing me into a corner to clearly stand up and define who it is I am as both a person and a writer. I guess in a way the situation has made me question whether he didn’t take me seriously as a writer, because up until this point I haven’t taken myself seriously as a writer.

Over the next few weeks I plan to explore the different ways in which this person was able to disrespect me as a writer. I could of course sweep it under the rug, shrug it off and pretend it never happened, but why the fuck should I, my writing style pushes the boundaries and I often explore topics that allows society to stereotypically label me. This is the problem.. I am who I am, I am not the words on page I am the spaces between them and for that alone I deserve respect.

Karen Hayward ©2016.