Silent falsities

Stained threads of purpose,
clambering the ladder,
stepping stones of succession,
A charlatans profession.
My personal preference is to
Be forgotten, I am no man’s
stepping stone, no check list
item on the road, falsities are
for another, so let’s not pretend,
bridges burned to the very end.
Bridges burned to the very end.

Karen Hayward ©2018
No claim to image

Grandmother Beldam

#wordprompt#beldam

Rot mutating at the very core
churning entitlement disease
an epidemic of waste, as eyes
die and skin becomes mottled.
Souls decaying between the
silent beats of a ravaged war
whilst ancient wisdom falls
from the page one letter at a
time. The conceptualisation
of ideology lost in the sphere
of thought. I am, I must,
I therefore… We have become
the beldam of humanity,
with blind eyes, scarred
hearts and jars of pickled
morals aside our broken values
left to soak in the bitter tincture
of ego blessed in whispered
incantations of pride.
Yes. Humanity is this worlds
Beldam.

Karen Hayward ©2017

I am a speck

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

A am a speck
Star dust.
An atom.
A mass of atoms.
A form created into structure.
Biological evolution.
I am a gender.
A stereotype.
Flesh, bones and grey matter.

And for the longest time the world’s axis stopped spinning at this realisation.

I am a speck.
An atom among atoms.
Star dust with an
ancient soul,
I am my reality
Living within another’s
surviving in a country
among countries on
a planet, among planets
Within a universe…
I am a speck.

Karen Hayward ©2017

The tempted tale of grid lock

The matrix island
of communication
wires, wired, wirelessly.
Welcome to
concept central, driving
the red hues of raging
rage, a slave to the angst
suffocating the exhaust
of a poisonous hum
of toxicity revving
between thoughts
of escape drifting
away on the back roads
of petrol pleated plumes
on carbonmonoxide
dreams of serenity…

…oh those dreams
that drive the mind
numbing beat of an
alternative reality,
catastrophic candy
for the herd bred
on societies
incestual insanity.

Karen Hayward ©2018

The sting of a pitiful stance.

img_20160419_221320.jpg

I feel only pity. Not for you, for those touched by you. Those stained with your toxin breath and acid words. Those that hear the echoes of your banshee scream as dawn calls upon another day and they believe they converse with an angel.

I pity the God’s you pray to, the hyprocracy in your evening cries, the venom in your devil eyes. A descendant of lilith, fallen angels with blackened wings fanning the vile words falling from your spitting tongue.

The serpent coils through your soul, what embers of innocence once lay there now crushed, dispersed on trade winds to a lover and another and any poor fool consumed by your succubus melody and the broken strings of your violin.

But alas I will carry your lesson into tomorrow on the beating wings of spirits love forever at my side. My gain was your want, eternal without condition beyond the physical realm. Spiritual devotion rewarded now in universal bliss…

Your lessons taught me the value
Of true loves blessed kiss. Your game play was preparation, for me to become his. Your poison was the toxin in my climb
as I learned self worth and when my King
took stand to claim his Queen,
I knew I was worthy this time.

Karen Hayward ©2017 Image and words

International woman’s day…Warriors born of love. 

Mother? 

Wife?

Home maker? 

Peace keeper? 

Nurturer? 
Fuck that, us women are 

God damn warriors, 

Our love is our Excalibur

Our patience is our armour,

Our wisdom is our strength,

And our calm is our balance…

Women…humanities warrior

we shall slay all foe

that threaten the harmony

Of our creations, 

Woman  ..  Gaia’s warrior. 

Karen Hayward * ©2017