…and then I saw you.


…and then I saw you,

the source of ancient whispers

caught upon springs breeze.

The warm caress protecting

from winters freeze,

the soft echo of snow,

The golden rays and pink skies

of summer, the oceans call

and the silence of

autumns twilight hours…

and then I saw you the source

of ancient whispers and then I saw

you and I knew I was found.


Karen Hayward ©2016


Darkness within.

Your darkness draws me in like a cold winters night,

wrapping itself around my body, creeping under my skin.

Your darkness whispers to me as the breeze whispers

to the changing leaves on an early autumn night.

Your darkness caresses me like the spring sun that

creeps in to warm the freezing days .

Your darkness ignites a flame deep inside of me that burns

like the deep heat of a clear summers day.

Your darkness is under my skin, your darkness

found the darkness I hide within.


Karen Hayward ©2015



Softly I fall.

Once fresh and vivid green with

flushed pink cherry blossom petals

dancing at her side.

The small leaf was transformed

by autumn. Her soul the

deepest red of a dying heart.

Winds charged past her,

in a twirling swirl of immediate


Each gust pulling her

toward a subtle breeze.

Each breeze pushing her back

toward the growing storm.

Will she ever stop falling?

Will the soft breeze ever catch her?

A constant cyclone

as she transforms and withers

into a  winter leaf.

Summer darkness.

The cool air of an early summer evening

dancing across my skin beneath a moon

half covered in shadows of the unknown.

Lost stars within my sight among the darkness.

Stirring memories of tales from long ago,

I sit and feel as my soul remembers

and my spirit feels, as summer reminds

me, off all that I have forgotten.


A weed now grows where

a flower, once stood.

Beyond the whispering trees,

in the abandoned woods.

A backdrop of fog, grey and white

pushing her forward

through the desperate night.

Stones at her feet where soil should lay

a breeze travels through,

lost, alone, thrashing

all in its way.

A weed now stands,

where a flower once dropped,

petals of pink

as she began to sink.

Her fragrant scent sits soft in the air,

before that day,

when she used to care.

Now her heart lays bare

as summer comes,

and autumn leaves,

as her world turns cold

and she grows old.

Too soft the wind told,

too pretty and bold,

a gift as precious as solid gold.

A weed now grows, strong,

its stem rooted and long,

she points her eyes toward

the struggling skies.

Remembering the soft pink

ebbs of time,

when all around things were fine.

She whispers on the moist white air

that life has never been fair.

A weed now stands where a

flower once grew,

her appearance has changed,

but her hearts still true,

for she is the flower

that you once knew.