Whispering wisps.

IMG_20170727_193140The trees murmured of our love
long before the leaves whispered
our ancient names. On births
creation a constellation of
speckled veins traversing,
passing, rushing, yearning…
passion stirring, paths crashing.
Entwining energies, stoic
thread of silver calm, stitched
perhaps by Zeno in days before.
Are we the calm or the storm?

Karen Hayward ©2017

In the chary depths of an Island of solace.

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I wish to be an Island, lost far out at sea.

Swimming in solitude with no one to see.

I can’t echo thoughts etched upon scars

as darkness embraces a world full of stars.

I wish to be an Island, blind to their beauty

saved from the shadows cast by the beauties.

I can’t echo grace for you wont or you will

and if left unto me they’re all such a thrill.

I wish to be an Island, to which nothing compares

alone out at sea, so I cannot compare…

For grass that is softer, petals more scented

skies like the heavens and fantasies fated.

I wish to be an Island, lost far out at sea

a place in the silence where I cannot see.

 

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and words