The vast emptiness
of a muddled mind
fractured beyond
the splintered remnants
of the devil kiss…
…where now are the fireflies
that once had enlightened
my soul to celestial skies?
For all about me lays the
vast wastelands of the underworld,
the river Styx whispers to
me at nights promise as
slumber pulls me under,
I am fallen,
the broken remains of
belief swimming
now in Stygian darkness
drowning my sins in lust
suffocating my love in desire
saving myself from the 
mundane wishes of
the blind. 

Karen Hayward ©2018

Image and words

Gaia cries stolen tears

Gaia screams from within her core
cries ebbing upon earthly shores,
For the unbloomed flowers
and trees that don’t tower
For the stagnant tides
suffocating in yesterdays High.
For lost souls, dying spirits
and empty chests where a heart should sit.
Gaia whimpers, sobbing free
Her pulse felt in waving leaves
Those same waving leaves felt her pulse
an echoed cry, knowing now,
the end is nigh, the prophecy was not false
Gaia cries for all that feel
death is ours, death is real.

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image and words

i’m a muddle…

IMG_20170413_110950

I’m a muddle of repeated songs, odd socks and wild hair.

I care too much and yet care too little, i’m as fragile as a

porcelain doll that refuses to break when thrown against the wall,

but will chip at the slightest sign of mistrust.  My hands are

a battleground of clumsiness and my skin wears proudly

the pale hue of my heritage. My eyes truly are the windows

to my soul they whisper the secrets of pain I hide

and scream of the excitement rushing in my veins.

Yeah, i’m a muddle of chaos and calm, vivid and pale

rich, enigmatic hues of a wandering soul…

 

Karen Hayward ©2018

image and words

A moments reprieve as you sleep.

wp-image-1010387328jpg.jpg

At dawns awakening
the world screeched
upon the etched carvings
of a spiteful tongue,
hates essence
suffocating my light.
Drowning in yester-
years ocean of
delinquent blood.
The hours owned
by the devil, wiped
clean by the angels
beating wings.
The merry go round
of existence. Dawn
becomes day, day
becomes noon,
noon leaves too soon.
After drowning in
evening’s promise,
night begs for
resistance.

Tired eyes and stinging
mind, I walk the halls
to you, no calls for mum,
no echo of media.
I pause about your feet,
and take in life’s splendour.
A gift . . . the soft hum
of sleep already arrived,
the whisper of a moment’s
promise. I pause now with
freedoms time upon my hands,
and stare into the heart
of twilight skies. your
gentle sleep, a melody so
sweet.

Karen Hayward (c) 2017
Image and words