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 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…


Karen Hayward ©2016



For Metatron I savour the perfect moments.

I have a jar up high on a shelf somewhere deep inside my mind,
I fill it with the perfect moments that I find.
Kisses that should have been, fingers tracing as they pull apart, that knowing look that says I want, I need but I cannot. Love, my jar is filled with the love I have for a thousand things. My jar is filled with perfect memories. Untarnished by reality a picture of emotions captured through a crystal lens. When my jar is full I shall fill another and another and as my final breath leaves my body and I  ascend into death, Metatron will smile upon me as I give to him the gems of humanity I have savoured.

Karen Hayward ©2016