Drunkenly drinking

If I were a
my petals
would furl
in toward
my center.
from my
own nectar.
Blanket me
in abounding
love, cocoon
me from this

… If I were
flower. But
Alas I am
a weed, a
wild flower
growing in
the breeze
between the
is my
The whirring
tides of stars
are my
they cocoon
me from this

But if for
just a
I was a
My petals
soft against
my skin,
into a ball
of fragrant
on my
own sweet
to bloom.
What a
would be.

Karen Hayward ©2018

Cleaner reqiured

If I gather up
the cracked
pieces of
the shattered
grains of soul,
the shards of
spirit, the
chipped remains
of identity…
With my heart
in pieces;
perhaps you
could help me
tidy them into
neat piles of
rationality, dust
away the insanity.
Fill the voids
with self believe,
polishing them
with self confidence
long lost in the
devils hour.

Karen Hayward* ©2018

Slicing through the echo of my own perfection

The body, when perfectly whole
Without cut, scar or gaping hole
Is a vessel of beautiful perfection
Radiating aura without detection
of cast of entities from darker sense…

Each cut, scar, hole leaves open essence
protection fails as they seep in
heavy thoughts they always bring
feeding on energy, power drives on
reality is rewritten, they become strong.

To cleanse, to hide, to meditate
is never quite enough to fight
for holes in auras outer shield
are the reason for the magnetic field
They deceive, come in many guise

Such power they feed from mine so wise,
S’not you s’not me, they choose just feed
are blind in choice beyond holes of sieve
Such holes they must be healed
To regain your protective field.

Even in distance across time and space
healing occurs from source trace,
All is needed, permission granted
intent is thought a decision planted
Allow me, and I will remain silent
till thoughts quenched end of violence.


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She just wants milkshake

My inner child,
really is a child
She likes
strawberry milkshake
and a straw to blow
Mr whippy on winter days,
blankies in summer,
penny for a guy
and a sky full of glitter.
She likes a
nursery rhyme and
cartoons from
days gone past.
She’d rather
then blow them,
make daisy chain
then earn them.
She likes giggling
and laughter
and nonsense
makes perfect sense.
She’s a real little girl.
She wants to hold
fingers not hands
and share kisses,
not plans.
She’s happier
watching skies
not motives,
she wants simple love
not complicated war,
open thoughts not
the bang of a door.
My inner child
is just a girl,
all innocence
and lost hope
she just wants to
Know love…
true love, fairytale
crap with true loves
kisses that heal
her every scar.

Karen Hayward © 2018

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Regretful stance in essence of whispered tombs.

( The Italian Sonnet. )


My dearest, I do not forget your name
or whispered promises, tomorrow’s breeze
carries still your message, stand tall, fly free,
ageless spirit unburden fickle shame.
Resistance, for wild souls remain untamed.
Allow never again this heart to freeze
To love in abandoned hues will appease
lost embers of oceans eternal flames.
Yet, I feel the drumming echo of fear
pure porcelain pieces scattered across
the floor, vulnerability so near.
To not give is such a regretful loss
awakened I search the celestial sphere
for regret, is too much a haunting cost.


Karen Hayward* ©2017

Image and words

Rain drops.

Rain drops, my dearest paradise fall upon my skin and cleanse my soul. Raphael, I know you hear my whispers, come, let’s sit by the open window and drink in the scent of life. The dark skies are consuming and the stars forgot today to twinkle like diamonds in a far of world. Do you hear the echo as each drop becomes a puddle? Do you hear the echo? Raphael wrap around me your wings of healing love, let us sit alone here and watch as the world is cleansed beneath droplets of heavens tears.

Karen Hayward ©2016