I am the silk of the dew soaked web


… the gentle calm
intrigues me
a chaos you knew would
by your words?
Or innocent intent…

… or is it that I find
your soul in the
mornings mist
embracing me
holding me
loving me
at my side
as it has been since
the start.

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image and words

Isn’t there an irony that to you I owe it all?
You uncovered a part of me in the devils hour.
Two souls, fragmented shards of yesteryear,
We were children dancing with the devils soldiers
Bound by scars of old that we painted across
each others skin, you were the innocent,
I was the sin. I didn’t believe, I didn’t see,
and your lies and indiscretion set me free,
whilst binding you to a cage of regret,
futures mapped, destiny set as you carried
into new days the broken fragments
of my soul
that I left shattered upon your door…
… Till time passed, lives moved forward,
Many sun rises, blue skies, spring rain glory
Promises made and broken.
Closure came unexpected.
I was chaos she was respectability
on paths chosen,
Only you saw my potential to be more
Yet, with self doubt you were out the door….
the catalyst moment that had me reaching for more.

I broke into a thousand shards of mistrust,
bled for my lust, died for my sins
fought bare hand your belief…
became the very thing you believed beyond me,
your choice set me free
no longer a soldier for the devils play
You uncovered a part of me that day
And as years passed and paths crossed
It was you crying now, for the love you had lost.

Karen Hayward ©2018

Wide across the universe.


Where are you when the twilight hour is upon me? Darkness lingers across my skin where your fingers trailed within dreams. No illumination marks my sky,
Droplets of my love are carried on Selenes tears as she spills moon beams across your night calling to you in sleeps lullaby.
For a moment, a mere wisp of time we share sleeps quarters, we traverse between the worlds, fingering the thin veil of hope… Perhaps we can share the same dream. Sit here upon this log, beneath star filled skies and watch the horizon spreading hues of our love wide across the universe…
Karen Hayward ©2017

Image found via Pinterest

Two Mirrored Self’s.


Two Mirrored Self’s

© 2017 Harold Bo Clapsaddle,a hardball clod posed

©2017 Karen Hayward, Harked An Wary

Be of God’s love to be lashed inside

to confide well as Red does scarlet

which testifies like Jekyll and Hyde

cut of gut and heart bled ‘pon carpet.

See here? Torn edges of sanity

Neither, spirit nor soul, piece fits space

Ego then all asylum of self, cast reality

shattered drear, for lost is yonder trace.

The riddle, blood of Eve, essence

of Lilith, need of grieve, ripped Adam

spawn given fall, Sam’s sinful silence

a metamorphic war in every atom.

Heartfelt earthly befell from On-High

God tailors, to sew bare threaded bolder

of carnal braided sides, of yet I cannot deny.

of best carpenter, of whom I’m a beholder.

Blinded blood lust screams

A decaying scent of home

and whispers soft from dreams

In Celestial grace given of throne.

Above is brightest thereof

Yet crashing earthen axle

under chilly dark lost love

as mankind eats the apple.

Sin, lies, in lustrous deceit, it breeds

In it’s hot empty void of breath

is cold serpent promise and devil seeds

fed two souls, held to bereft.

Two together, two times

two corresponding equal

givin’ fourth, Great blue chimes

as clock towers eternal sequel.

Kinetic cat calls of sin swings

pendulum of doom upon love

as devil tips, and God sings,

dark shadows prey seeks above.

The confidence of purity, broke

two souls searching for home

the devil not in kindness, awoke

together they are eternally alone.

See of twain, of brain with binary eyes vain

bilaterally spoke is as Jekyll and Hyde reside

which butler shells orange crush so insane

as each alone does confide, to ere cockeyed.

From denial comes excuses

to straight-jacket cold heart

in abyss, crazy flossed abuses

it accuses so hot, that it infuses apart.


A rage of dark, demonic voice

suffocating, all but a fallen tear

pleasant death no longer a choice

as love’s beauty, succumbs to fear.

Clock-towered eternal hence

labors our wing of eagle dare

whence comest our lost sense

to air prayer onto God of affair.

Shall the trees be envious

of what green groves enjoy

that fell gold feathered devious

forthwith flown solitary employ.

Will not all things be envious?

Lost, found essence of dark

among visions given, rebellious

souls playing their part.

Lights dimmed, masks fell

monster, angel, sinner, saint, lover

fragmented mind, departing calls

the inner child, again does suffer.


Image found via WordPress library

A pause in the eternal beating of time.


If I wielded sand grains,
in a broken hour glass,
tore kinetic energy
from the fabric of time,
Ripped a hole in the linear vortex,
for a moment I’d make you mine.

Beneath star filled skies and a distant moon,
damp air clinging to my skin,
owls hooting a chorus of ancient wisdom,
the silent echo of twilight.
A lover’s blanket of need
wrapped about my body’s bloom.

Each breath filling my lungs
with your essence
I’d drink in the dark pools of your eyes,
trace the heart of your lips with my mouth
searching for your taste
beneath celestial skies.

Our horizon lost in endless fog
muted reality,
my body falling into yours,
the melding of our existence,
the paused shadow hovering
above life’s forgotten arrow,
sundial engulfed in past darkness
illuminated by lunar crystalline
beads of ever beating life.

I would hold those grains of
sand in my hands,
count the blessings of their moments,
ensnare them,
bind them to my fantasy,
mold them to my reality,
forget them in the black
hole of desire.

Our lips devouring the soul,
our tongues tracing a faded
constellation of our love
searching for home and finding
each other,
between the paused beats of
times ticking
hands traversing the infinite
skies of dreams.

Karen Hayward (c)2017
Image and words

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

Swallowed beyond oblivion.


Some days I beg the
mist to fall and
suffocate me,
to swallow whole what
freedom I am afforded
and drown
those things
I am not permitted.
To choke from me
my bitter tongue
that longs to spit
flames at your
scornful eyes.
To lay surrender
the pure essence
of my soul and sell
myself to the devils role
lost in vengeful wars
I shouldn’t fight,
Some days I do not
feel worthy of
these wings, or my
need to take flight,
feeling only the
heavy burden of
your silence as it
chokes me in
your warped
Some days I want
the mist to
take me…

Karen Hayward ©2017