life…

Choices, they have to be made

the game of life, it has to be played.

Stagnated, soured water and death

avoid all choices, and its all you have left.

Heart breaking decisions beyond all reason,

a heart that never changes, unlike the seasons.

It soon turns to ice learns only to hate

until you are knocking at the devils gate.

Choices they have to be made,

the game of life, it has to be played.

So be brave, my dear life soldier,

or else your precious soul grow colder.

Fear not the repercussions, but regret,

it will follow you, never to forget.

Karen Hayward ©2012 Edited 2020 Image and words

Devils Love

Sometimes, I sit and wonder.
Is it my soul you plan to plunder?
What then are you waiting for?
Do you really think me the devils whore?

Sometimes you sit and wonder
can you really her soul plunder?
What is she waiting for, you think
'My sweet, innocent devils whore'.

Sometimes, they sit and wonder
Late at night when the worlds in slumber.
Why is fate so truly cruel?
Is this the only way must we let the devil rule?

Sometimes, the devil sits and plunder’s,
all the thoughts of love and wonders.
He shares with I and you the love
to help us through each day that’s tough.

One day we’ll sit and wonder
for the lost days that life did plunder.
And we’ll be grateful to the devil,
that in our true love he did revel.

Karen Hayward ©2012 - Edited 2020 Image and Words. 

Reflective voices

I sat on the stony shore as the soft ebbing tide
drifted further away. The suns rays reflecting,
of the seas surface, like gold dust,
dropping from the sky. I close my eyes and,
let the winter sun warm me.
 
I can feel your kisses on my shoulder,
they're soft and warm...
 
My eyes open, I rest my head
upon my knees. Fate is cruel.
I look out at the blue/grey sky,
and wonder why.
 
Life is never easy and perfection is rare.
But why does it taunt me.
I close my eyes, go back to my memories,
they're all I have now.
All I will ever have. I never knew
that I would actually miss you.

Karen Hayward ©2012 - Edited 2020 Image and words

I sometimes catch my shadow

Photo

I sometimes
catch
the not so distant
sound of footsteps
lurking in past
shadows
walking
behind us.
Do you hear
mine? Bleeding,
tar like energy
through the
Open vines of our
existence.
Then the sun rises
and our past
shadows creep
Into our future self’s
Vivid darkness
contrasting light
I sometimes hear
the footsteps
of your shadowed
past creeping
alongside my
demons and I
wonder are they too
tied by the echos
of ancient maps.

Karen Hayward ©2017
Image and words

Time ticks and tocks in the silent beats of ego

Slowly it falls into oblivion
smashed glass shattering
memento.
A brief pause when it hits.
The cursed pleasure of karma.
The jar becomes my integrity
Piercing decades of time,
the coffee grains, my dignity
spilling openly at his feet.
I count my blessings looking
at the tattered remains
of myself, it could have been
worse. He bent to gather
the shards of glass.
It could have been
tampons. That look,
the one that says twenty years
and still she’s as clumsy
as ever. . . too late, the look
lost now among the poetic
irony of a dropped jar
of coffee.

Karen Hayward (c)2017
Image via wordpress library

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

Soldier of ancient knowing.

mikewildyelginger1

My soul is the creation of a million broken pieces,

decoupaged together with vintage paper towels

covering cracks, slithers of white glue barely filling

the crevices of histories voice echoing through the

lost caves of innocence.

Smashed China, pastel floral’s

lost in the vivid hues of self destruction…I wear my scars

with the whispered honor of shame, the rivets caused

by the dull blades have become storage boxes of rational

thought, irrationally taped together in tears that fall only as

darkness reigns…Even I must stay relatively sane.

And deep within this constellation of thoughts I search

the battle ground for your essence. Praying I will find you

safely jumping across the stepping stones of

my existence, but alas my horizon is clear and yet

I feel you so near. A soldier of love I find you

peeling back torn memories, embracing the deep

etches of self doubt and kissing away the deep echos of

darkness that shroud me from light. My honored Knight

taking arms against this lifelong fight.

My soul…

is the creation of a million broken pieces,

decoupaged together with your love and vintage paper towels

covering cracks, slithers of white glue and your gentle insistent

whispers of encouragement  filling the crevices of histories

voice echoing through the lost caves of my innocence.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image Michael J.Garland. ©2017