Will you still when I am aged

Will you. . . ?
When my skin wears the markings
of my days and the lines of my nights
etched upon my face in a constellation
of battles won and wars lost.
Will you…?
When my hair is peppered with storms
meant to crush and dances meant to
drown. Leaving a trail of suffocated
colour, speckled through my timeline.
Will you…?
When my essence is muted grey in a
room full of rainbows arching to
perfection as I stumble to stand but
manage only to fall… Will you?
Will I?
Yes, when life is tattooed across your skin
in the distant echoes of battles, knights and Kings,
Yes, when age holds you within its grasp,
hair disappearing rapidly fast.
Yes, when our minds are a riddle
of yesteryears, lost thoughts and a need to tiddle,
Yes, when presence is historical in fresh blooms
among young meat in crowded rooms…

And suddenly I understand the depth of ‘of course’
the reason behind loves universal laws
We are all of our good bits, all of our flaws,
And age is the key to a souls longing need,
together we’ll blossom, starting from seed.

Karen Hayward ©2018

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This is my demise

And some they will rise
stake claim, a silent mine,
Me, this is my demise
I hear the shadows call
feel the shroud as it falls
Naked, hiding behind a wall,
scared now to bare
fruit of liberations, share,
how? When I can’t compare.
The wobble of the pedestal
from above, I can only fall
and I slip through the half
truths of your fingers, a
silent implosion lingers.
The bound ascent of waltzing
flirtations,
nullified realisations.

Karen Hayward ©2017

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Jittery kisses

The smouldering kiss of suppressed
thought, silent flames, burning
memories, (inse) ‘curities fueling
the empty hours that were once
seconds. The vile shadow of intent
for all thoughts have a root, all
words have cause and I feel for the
distant tug of space beyond
prostitution of the flesh. But alas,
some pages we rewrite in frenzied
passion and label it liberation,
erasing our markings with the
over chewed end of a HB pencil
till pages are torn and the canvas
becomes a hue of melancholy grey.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and words

Likely set ablaze the page… 

My thoughts would likely
set ablaze the page,
Perhaps best I let them fester
In silent implosions
dot to dot conclusions
and solid doubt
of realities illusions.
Delusions
My thoughts would likely
tear holes through
constellations
rip apart solar systems
Redesign the universe
and yet, would
surely quench this
burning thirst
A cure for perhaps
mothers tongue, a curse.
My thoughts
My thoughts
My thoughts would surely
set ablaze the page
Crimson flow,
nature’s rage
Not wrong not right
Blinded by terrors sight
upon my tongue then
I shall bite,
whilst quietly waiting
for the emptyness
of night.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Cover them in Satan’s cream.

Once upon a day gone by beneath a deafening
thunderous sky. I waged a war on life
itself, gave my all with love and grace and
then just simply let it fall. I walked on sullen tippy toes
followed life’s incessant flow. Stopped for neither man nor beast
upon this life i’d lovingly feast. Once upon a day far gone
I danced to another song, with hidden lyrics and a tasty beat
constantly moving my naked feet.
I devoured hearts and stole away dreams
covered them in Satan’s cream. I never looked back,
never questioned my track, never cared for the consequences
my fear to attach was relentless.
Once upon a night long gone I sold my soul in the devils song.
I’ve since begged and pleaded to have it back
he only laughs and says ‘you’ll have only a crack.
You’ll see out, but they’ll not look back.’

Karen Hayward ©2017
Image and wordsimg_20160419_221320.jpg

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

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.

 

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image found on pinterest.

I keep moving in the kaleidoscope of fear.

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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.

Karen Hayward ©2017

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!

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image found on Pinterest