How many soul mates have kissed your lips 

#positivelyprompted (The dream scene)
Art by Miro Hirano

How many souls have intimately
known your touch as you searched
through the faces for the Queen to
your thrown?

How many seeds of lust abandoned
on the summer breeze that held you
captivated momentarily.

How many wishes, counted, whispered
and forgotten so we could travel
this path untrodden.

How many I wonder, seedling soul mates fell short at our feet as we tried in vain to hear the whispers of an ancient memory.

How many soul mates have touched our lips as we searched through the universe for a true loves wish, as we searched through lovers for each other’s kiss.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Desire, the lost beacon.

And if the many whispers of the past could rise and caress the inner child of my thoughts with the abandonment of reality. Rich in blind trust, eager to explore the contours of love. Fresh blood innocence lost in the darkness as golden rays of sprinkled showers bless the inner workings of my fragile state. Heavens kiss would radiate the shine wihin my soul, illuminate my lost path within this labyrinth of adulthood. Desire, the lost beacon of hope, would lead me through the darkness into the forgotten realm  of light.
Karen Hayward ©2016

Open your eyes.

Where upon you see the mechanics of an Edwardian clock,
the rhythmic hands moving in accordance to the greying frock,
the pleasantries of obedience don’t run a mock,
and the gold band, for the soul, an eternal lock.
With blind eyes you see form but the atoms are lost.
You see a sky of lights not the oncoming frost.
You see nothing familiar, yet don’t know that you’re lost.
You’re unable even, to calculate the loss.
I’d ask that you trust in my words and see what I see,
but you can’t, you already believe you are free.
I’d ask that you look and see life’s melody,
but her music makes you want to up and flee.
I’ve asked that you try, you ask i leave you be.
I fear on my path you will not follow me,
for you are blind and I can see.

Karen Hayward ©2016

Watch me as the moon cuts my final ties.

Lay your body close to mine,
My fingers entwined in yours.
Watch as my eyes close,
Locking out the world.
Listen as my heart beats softly.
Let me rest
My head upon your chest,
My arms across your naked body,
Lips soft on your neck.
Hold me,
Hold me as i hold you back,
Hold me as i fall asleep,
In trust,
Hold me, as i let go, of the single strand,
That holds me back,
On this scary life track.

One moon will rise, one moon will fall.

The path is long and must be walked,
And yet,
our words spoken, must be talked.
One moon for our galaxy,
Showing us,
how to be free.
Glowing for you,
Glowing for me.
Warm sea mist snaking round my legs,
as i see the words inside my head.
Always cautious of where we tread.
Endless realms of letters,
stuck together, like peacock feathers,
And never knowing whether.
Whether our words mean anything at all,
Whether you see the same moon fall,
Whether our thoughts are enough,
And if we’ll ever understand this stuff.
And as she rises,
and falls,
as she turns and dances through the night,
a beacon of hope,
A beacon of light,
I wonder, if I take away the words,
what is left, but the singing birds,
The actions,
And I wonder why you do not let go,
When you have so much to lose.
And perhaps that day will come,
When I see a moon, and you a sun,
Till then I see with perfect sight,
What the angels choice to send,
That dark and ancient night,
Not a lover, not yet, not almost,
but a friend,
the angels did send.
As we trust the moon to rise,
Before our very eyes,
The angels gave me light,
to see through the darkest nights.
They gave me the only thing That I can trust in,
As the sand drops through,
They always knew,
I would slowly learn to trust you.
Of all things, for the universe,
Untouched by time, or miles,
through the creation of smiles,
They sent to us a friend.
The strongest of all forevers
Like the perfect, peacock feather.

Our path is not mapped out.

Our path is not drawn out in red like an underground map
From the moment we are conceived.
We are not given a glimpse of it as our spirit passes through into our mothers womb.
Our path is buried deep inside our soul,
It is smothered when we drift too far from our goal,
It is lit making our spirits dance when we are near.
It is our path alone, and is filled with tragedy so we may learn,
And love so we may grow.
It is the fluttering wings of the converted caterpillar,
The sense of knowing, when no word is said,
The peeling petals, when our heart feels dead,
our path is not drawn out in red,
It is the places,
The friends,
The paths we choose to tread.

My track.

I’m not sure,
When it happened,
The change.
At first, i thought of you by choice,
I often find you just wandering around inside my thoughts.
and it doesn’t worry me.
Doesn’t make me want to flee.
And suddenly,
I am aware,
The empitiness
Of miles,
The inability
A line on a map,
That can only be traced.
And still, i am not fazed.
The best walks,
Are not mapped in chalk,
life is not a drawn up list,
It’s something,
So, i’ll continue down the beaten track,
It will lead me foward,
Or it will lead me back,
I believe, this is my track.

A path all of my own.

I have a path, all of my own,

filled with love and hate, where

I can live and call it home.


I’ve walked along a sandy shore,

with sun kissed skin, and

tapped upon a lover’s door.


I’ve watched the waves come crashing in and

with the devils help, I’ve

spent a day, or two in sin.


I’ve cried, effortless, tears of loss

beneath a clear lunar sky,

and felt my heart begin to frost.


I’ve sworn that grey is blue,


blue is grey, upon a lie

and now I know that it is true.

and all because,

I have a path, all of my own,

where I must live, and call it home.