Toes skipping across marble floors…

I suffocate in the silent notes
of a forgotten orchestra
as it drowns me in its melodious
song, the ancient whistle of
Pan and his nymphs dancing
to an unheard tune as I lose
Sight of skies of blue.
Dressed in topaz silk skimming
bare knees, purple ribbons
toes skipping on marble floors,
I hear the devil call as he lands
upon my shore…
All air is sucked from my lungs
Life drained from my veins
Tears milked from the shadows
of my heart as the walls tumble,
As the ceilings crumble,
As the chandelier shatters…

… fragmented diamonds,
sparkle in the darkest hours,
Light in life’s void, beauty in
It’s shadows…

I could drown in the
monochrome whispers of
fantasy, lost, suffocating
in my reality…

Karen Hayward ©2018

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Adults look foolish – wordprompt

Give to me a life of laughter
Smiles, silly faces and random noises all submerged into an existence where *adults look foolish*
Lend to me days and seconds and weeks and minutes where the foolish look (as) adults traipsing through the playground of growing up in a world governed by Pan and designed by Tink. I am suffocating beneath the corruption of adult expectation, too quirky to grow old gracefully and to delicate to survive Neverland and the endless swings and roundabouts. My toes tingle when forced into heels, my hips twitch, my fingers rat a tat tat my eyes crawl across the landscape looking for adventure, but alas all I ever find is greyscale billboards declaring, “Do not play on the equipment of life, else stuffy adults look foolish” and I sigh, imagine myself a cherry pie, lay back and dream of clouds floating by.

Karen Hayward ©2018

 

This poem was inspired by a wordprompt I came across this morning by the talented Teresa Creation’s check out the prompt by clicking right here on this word….boom

Three word prompt #69 “adults look foolish”

 

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Chronus held tight grains of times falling sands
A river of tears running through destiny
As a slither of silver penetrates Lycan
and true loves pain becomes a reality.
For what is love, if not the sacrifice?
If not the promises made in dawns mist
as Zeus took blade and through true loves soul sliced
one becoming two, a half always missed.
And now, here, this lifes cruel intentions
Man, transforms to beast, primal, canibal
self lost in lunars kiss, human rejection
as she pauses, shoots, kills, her lover falls.
Twinflame tragedy, two hearts sieze to beat
But the ferryman only has one seat.

Karen Hayward ©
#sonnet #poetry #poetslineprompts #werewolf #lycan

The seconds ascend depleted

The seconds ascend
across the broken
scent of bleach,
swept debris
And forgotten cutlery
wedged between
reality and
fantasy. Caged in
the realm of
fairytale, no
Bird sings here, no mice
no pumpkin carriage.
The fairies Godmother
has long vanished
into the ethereal
taking with her
the Ill fitting glass
slippers. And so it
is I sit here bare foot
as the seconds ascend.

Karen Hayward ©2017

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Haphazard whispers of love

*Shh*… ould we?
I mean can we?
I’m tangled in a web
of your desire
caught haphazardly
on your tongue
the curve of your voice
as it entwines through me.
Can we?
I pull at the ancient sticky
essence that seemingly
binds us
I wonder,
were we ever unbound?
I sometimes call
defiantly into
the dark abyss of stars
like I did that night.
And you always answer
as you did that night…
my defiance quenched
for a moment.
Yet I still find
myself pulling
and tugging
at that string…

… I guess it might snap.

…or I might discover
your soul has been at my
side the entire time.

Only one way to find out.

Karen Hayward ©2018

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Apocalyptic future of Sunday lunch

Be warned. These are not
the harmless swans of your
time, these ducks will not
quack around your feet
for bread when they can
instead devour your flesh.
No. Such days of balance
have passed, we live now
behind salvaged glass.
Oh the lulling nature of
serenity and the clockwork
beating of their hearts
as teeth gnash and wings
tear limbs. Still my mouth
salivates for what they once
were, their blood now
diseased, the chem trail
apocolypse the hunted
became the hunter. Bow
now before the Kings
of our time, death came
death took and left
only the zombie of mind.
The geese, the ducks
the royal swans. . .
the seagulls pecking still
at rotting carcuses across
our desolute shores,
and so we live now,
shut behind glass doors.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Mercury encrusted stutter

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Between the seconds,
minutes and hours
times kinetic swing
slows to a
snails pace at twilight,
it is then I know
with a blind man’s
certainty that
I am fallen like
Alice, tumbling
for her fantasies
It’s deep within
my sacral
yet deeper in my soul
I tried to dust you off
smooth away your
scent but only
managed to submerge
myself further
in your essence
Have I told you
of the synchroniscities?
No, of course I haven’t.
The problem with equality
is the dispersal of power,
I’m afraid I wouldn’t
be so pretty with my
soul crushed into
fine powder blowing
in times wind
to desolate islands
of despair.
Isn’t that always
the problem when
you discover you care?
Intrigue gages the
tip toeing of my
splintered thoughts
across creaky floorboards
I am the wisp,
the wisp of chaos,
calm, energy, need and
perhaps love,
I was always afraid
you’d know what to do…
now isn’t that the truth.

Karen Hayward ©2018
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