
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