Condemned by the raging vultures

I sometimes feel like a naughty child
condemned for having picked up the pieces
that you were handing me in the dead of night
as the watchful world around us slept.

Condemned for lightly erasing your memory
from the spaces between the letters
on my page where I keep you so neatly
tucked away beyond prying eyes

Condemned for rising amidst grief
when the jagged rocks beneath me
offered such alluring love as the
snakes gathered readying for my blood.

Condemned that it was me, so plain
among the sea of princesses, just me that your own, condemned because I knew them…

… and they never knew me, and how that changed the balance of envy.

Karen Hayward ©2018

Image and words

In the chary depths of an Island of solace.

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I wish to be an Island, lost far out at sea.

Swimming in solitude with no one to see.

I can’t echo thoughts etched upon scars

as darkness embraces a world full of stars.

I wish to be an Island, blind to their beauty

saved from the shadows cast by the beauties.

I can’t echo grace for you wont or you will

and if left unto me they’re all such a thrill.

I wish to be an Island, to which nothing compares

alone out at sea, so I cannot compare…

For grass that is softer, petals more scented

skies like the heavens and fantasies fated.

I wish to be an Island, lost far out at sea

a place in the silence where I cannot see.

 

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and words

 

 

 

 

Insecurities rush, the blind side.

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It claws at me gently as hormones rise,

I know the uncertainty of insecure skies,

When enough, leaves and I see not a thing

Oh how I know what the short rise will bring.

But if nothing is all and all is free,

There’s nothing left for my broken soul, to see.

A blank page and empty space

Expect nothing, leave negative space.

I’m a whisper, a silhouette a bland empty ghost,

So alone I stand and alone I host.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Emerald green skies.

*sorry for the mood swinging poetry last night and this morning, my draft box got a bit full over the past two weeks, I’m just clearing that baby out :-).

If for a moment I pause and allow myself to hope then my world becomes a hue of emerald green. Your words become a recycled recreation of the echoed loves of your past. Your wanton touch becomes a passing need and I wonder who you need as I sleep. Your kindness shared becomes flirtations and I wonder who your for. If for a moment I pause and allow myself to hope, I imagine the warmth that surrounds you and beauty, that natural source that draws in all men and I try so hard to not compare. I consider the depths of your charm how it can draw in the beating heart of any female as you utter love in the language of your choosing.  If I pause and give hope to this fantasy then my world is plunged into a hue of emerald green for all I cannot have, for all I cannot show, for all I have no hold over.

Karen Hayward ©2016

June

January, February, March, April, May

Then i’d like to skip a month,

and sleep away the days.

 

Fresh life, beginnings, chances and love

the atroscities of envy

sent from up above.

 

January, February, March, April, May

Then i’d like to skip a month,

and sleep away the days.

 

Promises, lies, fantasies and fate,

The creation of an invalid world,

that leads to Satans gate.

 

January, February, March, April, May

Then i’d like to skip a month,

and sleep away the days.

 

Sacrifices, loss and loves that have been,

the past is long behind us,

but my heart always see’s.