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


Economic Eyes.


All eye’s fall upon me;

I sometimes wonder what it is they see

in this tainted prophecy. As you twist the words of this constant

mind, creating fantasies to find in this stereo-typical story of my kind. 

You search and sort and displace the truth imagining a world of five star blue.

But in reality, you haven’t got a clue.

Wrapped up in your cashmere sweater spending money to make life better,

always waiting for the elusive letter, and yet, you truly believe that you are better.

You gossip and talk, watch as they walk, count the visits of the old white stork.

You see without love don’t listen enough and wander away in another huff. But it’s

me in the wrong, it’s been coming so long, I wonder how is it that I’ve stayed so strong.

My life is a banged up box of tragic tales, seeds sown and phases passed and

long out grown, no longer do I stop and moan.

I sit beneath  my tattered cover besides my life long lover and breathe the air

that no longer smothers. I wear odd socks and shoes that scruff with jeans all worn from

life and stuff, these clothes of mine they are just enough.

I am not the jeans I wear or the woven silk socks bought as a pair, for

materialistic things I simply do not care.

You will not find me in the words I write, they do not talk of the battles I fight,

although the truth in them is sometimes slight, this does not mean that you are


And so it is I sometimes wonder what it is you see,

wings out stretched flying free,

             your haunting stares cause me to flee.