Supine in a moments serenity

3D somehow becomes

2D and I am

transported through time

to when clouds

were shapes

and the sky

was an endless

playground.

Terra tugs at my core

caressing lost strands

of self

as my inner child

sings nursery rhymes

fit for a killer.

Death lays all around me.

Abandoned graves

aging trees

Adulthood on the

lost lips of kids as

they grasp at the

milk cartons

and for a moment

I see St Nicholas

flying high through

cornflower blue skies

I close my eyes

for a last moments

reprieve

“please wake me

from this dream”

but no one hears

I am four and

discovering

that God does

not exist…

… I lay now,

supine in a

moments serenity

reflecting my daily

wish to wake from

this dream

they call life…

Karen Hayward ©2018

Morning sonorous

The street lights have long gone out and cars whizz across full puddles as clouds continue to drip drop drip drop into over flowing drains
Silence always sounds the same, night could be any day
There’s a rumbling roar and clitter clatter as it starts and stops a white beam of light penetrating the freezing rain as an old staple steps out of the history books milk bottles in hand with foil tops, thick cream and deathly cat stares waiting, wishing, hoping. The silence tastes like the black clouds, heavy and full of apprehension clinging to the muted song of restless sleep. The insomniacs stir, wipe away the sandman and let these empty hours embrace their feeble, screaming hearts. These are the hours of love, with lost walls and sleeping knights, rusted swords and broken arrows, the maid Marian’s of nights trembling caress and only the milkman is brave enough to trespass across their plane of safe harbour…

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image downloaded from Google

Sung beneath my stars

…so it’s 6:00am, vodka knows your name and in the devils hour guilt whispers back your shame and so it is you plead, strumming fingers till they bleed, don’t you worry bout the distance
you sing between the tears. And fragments they have shattered yet you’re singing that I matter. Vodka rushes down and words begin to slur, the line that we had drawn has once again become so blurred. So you sing, songs of old and new, on the guitar that you do play you whispered on my sunrise, that our future is okay…and hey there Delilah you tell me in the dark… Hey there Delilah, you sung beneath my stars.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image from WordPress library 

Bare foot stamping our mark upon this world…

flight landscape nature sky
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Skin wore the essence of summer,
Kissed by waves, embraced by currents
A taste of salt and golden glitter.
Hair a tangled web of curls
Yellow weaves of Destiny
ocean eyes deep and fierce.
Those days were our making,
Druid souls seeped in Poseidon’s kingdom.
Bare foot stamping our mark upon this world,
etched forever into spirits
energised by Helios,
soothed by Selene
caressed upon those shores
by the oceans ebbing love.

Karen Hayward (c) 2017

Image found via WordPress Library

The blue whispers of yesteryear

You look at me with the same blue eyes of over twenty five years ago, has it been that long? Age has made you look healthy, fuller, time has settled your soul I see. Tell me, if you will, how is it that misfits find each other in the crowds of screaming faces? Yet we did. We were not the broken, not the unfixable, our souls were intact only our spirits were torn from the root. I told you once, not to worry, you were gonna be fine, but you couldn’t hear me above your black nameless trainers with dirty white broken laces and faded second hand blazer that hung from your underfed frame. You had to drown first, we both had to, suffocation was the only way we could discover our own inner strength. We spent so many seconds, so many minutes, so many hours queueing at the dragons door scrambling for a signature to add to the ones we had just ourselves scribbled across those green sheets of paper that tied us to our school days. We didn’t always talk, not with words, sometimes our eyes said all that words could not. You told me, he loves me, I knew that, he had done since the first year at primary school, or perhaps before, perhaps it started that day as I walked along my road playing dollies an an empty street and I became the target for his kisses, rudimental exchanges of power as I pushed him away still disgusted by the very idea of boys. He believed I was his property and everyone knew that. Yet I never was, I would always be the one he never caught. It was love I saw in your eyes then, two souls speaking above the din of reality but we both had our rules of loyalty, isn’t that what made us so different? Broken and yet still we put others before ourselves, still we lived by our own codes refusing to be pulled into their pit of despair. You look good, age wears well on your skin, no longer an underfed frame, muscles now where once was skin and bone, smiles where once was a lad finding his way through knife laced streets of neglect.. Yet still, deep in those eyes of yours I find something, hidden, waiting to be told, to be said. And the moment is gone, the pendulum swings as we pass in the street, only our souls remembering.

Karen Hayward ©2018

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