To be lost there…

redhairwings

And so it is I am lost…Walking the divinity of your eyes

losing myself in their expression, in love and scars

of history past, among desire and flaming fires, in gentle

touches unknown to me. In patient whispers and a

protective stance,. and so it is that I am lost to a yearning,

deep and cumbersome, raw and inviting, primal and ancient

traversing the echos of time your eyes call to my soul…

and I am lost in their sea stepping ever closer, to be.

Image found on pinterest.

I keep moving in the kaleidoscope of fear.

I keep moving.

So you can’t see me,

so I cant see you.

I keep spinning avoiding those eyes,

That soul, that spirit, you.

I fear what you will see when you

Look into the dark recesses of my psyche,

You will not find beauty,

No one finds beauty.. they’ll be no acceptance,

No understanding….No.

So I spin slowly,

Avoid stepping too close,

One hand drags you in

And the other holds you back.

I hand to you the chipped pieces

Of my persona and keep the

Broken shards to myself.

With each kiss I grant you access

to my light, to the warmth of

my hope whilst I slam away

my darkness and hush my

hollow shadows.

I keep moving.

So you can’t see me,

so I cant see you.

Lost in an adult world.

And when I wake from slumber

I am but a child lost in the realm

of adulthood.

A child fearsome of the dark

Searching the heavens for that

Shining star.

Lost is my armour, my strength, my fight

I am a child, a seed of the light.

Angel wings above, auras warmth unseen

A glare in my lost eyes

The only thing I know…

Is too look to the skies.

Lost in a realm of darkness

I am a child lost in an adults world.
Karen Hayward ©2017

Image found in Pinterest.

So you sooth…

redhairwings

Attentive thoughts,

history becomes a shadow

snaking forth upon the tip of my tongue

and I am consumed with doubt.

My page the moonless skies,

my pen a rusting dagger

crimson ink pools,

spilling from

my canvas.

So you sooth,

whisper, caress and cocoon.

So you declare and pull me from the

shadows, words like token kisses from the moon,

intentional stance,

is that pride I hear as you pull me near!

Image found on Pinterest

…And when you slept I wandered the empty alleys…

peterpangosh

When she slept,

lime scented gas

filling her lungs,

I wandered the

corridors. White

wash walls. Faces,

faces…

Always someone.

When she slept,

Late Into the night,

Lights out…Silence.

So much silence.

I wandered the empty

corridors. Alone.

So very alone.

I saw silence,

I heard empty spaces,

I felt sweet British tea,

I tasted….

Love and pain,

Hope and fear

Relief and confusion.

I bid good evening

To the security guard

A big man who wore

His soul in his smile.

I wandered out into

Dark streets and

Darker alleys

Where tears fell

With the ease of

Breathing.
And I breathed

And I breathed

And I breathed.
A lost alley,

Seeped in darkness

At the foot of medicines

Glory, I ponder for

A moment, Wendy’s

Window and peters

Story.
Did Barrie know?

Where do the souls

Of young and lost go?

Peter’s statue stands

Proud at the doors…

I wandered up

And down the empty

Floors.
Karen Hayward ©2017

For those that do not know, J.M.Barrie gave the rights of PeterPan to Great Ormand Street Hospital (GOSH), many many many years ago. There is a statue of Peter at the front entrance, guarding the children. ♥

Take my hand the creator says.

‘You need only take my hand’.

he said.

‘It’s yours’.

I peer out from my monochrome shadows.

Only? I say.

Only?

Only I don’t say anything because

we both

know it is a statement of fear

and not a question.

Still I feel the warmth of his

presence upon me.

I have no questions only the

rapid beating of my heart

the rising pain that cuts at mt throat

as for a moment I am filled with hope.

He says I must only take his hand and I

can walk into a world of colour.

Only, it’s not my hand the creator wants.

He wants my blind faith.

He begs for my un-moving trust.

He pleads for my devoted love.

He wants my thoughts, my love, my hopes my desires.

He wants the sins I have lusted for to burn in the fires.

He wants my tears, my kindness, my hope,

he wants every idea i am able to sow.

‘You need only take my hand’. He says.

‘and it’s yours.’

I dip back into the shadows

one hand on the door edge

the other…

Tip tapping.

The mornings dawn

rises amidst ferocious

winds, branches swaying

in anger, tip tapping,

tip tapping at my window.

Sleep evades me,

Tip tapping, tip tapping.

A lonesome voice calls

into the night, shouting,

A repeated name, a cat?

A dog? I hear the fear

reverberate in her pitch.

Gulls scream to be heard.

Secrets tumbling from the

tips of lush green leaves.

Again she calls out.

Emptiness follows.

Just the tip tapping.

Tip tapping.

As angry branches

Anxiety in children; when the Caterpillar is too scared to turn.

We don’t ask for much only that you hear.

Trust us when we tell you it’s a founded fear.

Stop dismissing us as helicopter mums,

When will you see anxietys not fun.

You don’t understand I see it on your face,

every time I leave her here at this place.

You do not know best.

She’s not the same as the rest.

Every day I speak with you, every day nothing new,

Suddenly you decide theres a problem out of the blue?

And the reason for this problem, you haven’t got a clue!!

When I speak do you wander in your mind to your secret place,

Nod and smile, but you’re gone without a trace.

Do you know what anxiety is?

Can you recognise it?

Can you see it in a child as they cower from the clouds,

sudden movements, a chill, the shade, a noise that’s too loud?

Do you even see it, or is she so very quiet you just leave her be?

If she cried and she screamed and she stamped her feet,

If she ripped her work and kicked her seat,

Would you help her then?

Would you scour books with paper and pen?

Would you be afresh with ideas to help my young girl,

Fear of unknown proportions.

The soul knows what the mind forgets.

I watch you standing at the window as rain streams ferociously down the glass

I watch as unknown terrors become a remembered whisper.

As your soul envelopes your heart slowing the rapid beat into a rhythmic lullaby.

Your eyes flash brighter than any lightening as a smile creeps across your face.

Your fear washed into the drains as flash floods create an explosion of giggles.

“This is cool, mum”. You say as the skies rumble,

Not their fear inducing rumble

Just a rumble.

You catch raindrops on your hand as we search for the rainbow,

Never before has that arch of beauty felt so magical then in this moment.

With the devil at her side.

Digress beyond all reason pick apart my words, the devil knows your name he listens and he’s heard. With venom in his horns and poison on his tongue it angers him to see you hurt his fallen one. He wonders why you hate, he wonders why you sneer, he wonders why it is his angel keeps you near. He gives to her a pen to write away her woes, a smooth and empty page a place for her to show. He gives to her the heavens and skies upon the earth and fills her waking moments with an eternal mirth. And still the devil wonders why she cannot see her worth. With angels at her feet and halos in the skies, he gives himself to her to teach her how to fly. But she will not leave the branch she will not trust the fall, brick upon brick she builds another wall. And deep with in her mind she wanders in a haze around the constant walls that create her chaotic maze. He knows she will not fall, for the devil knows it all. He ponders on his quest and searches through the mess. He has to find the answers, what keeps her rooted there, he searches through the darkness to find what she won’t share. And down upon his knees, crimson tears roll across his cheek, for the root that he has found it runs so very deep. He pulls and he tugs and carves it with his knife, pleading with her please break free from this life. For the devil knows your name, he hangs his head in shame spitting venom in your tea in the hope that you will see and set his fallen angel free. But the devil has a nose, there isn’t a scent he doesn’t know. He smells the fear in your blood the indifference in your sperm the spite on your spit, and suddenly it all fits. So the devil in his wisdom, as wise as he can be, conversed with the angels and made a plan to set her free. As darkness falls he whispers in her ear, as twilight is he pulls her from her sleep, as day begins his angels weep for the shame that hides for the shame she keeps.
But the devil takes her hand and pulls her too her feet, with the devil at her side she will never be beat. With the devil at her side, with the devil at her back, she’ll walk through nettled paths and stumble upon rocks, but with the devil at her back, she will find her beaten track.