Souls dance among the darkness.

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Can I become lost in the essence of your soul and fall aimlessly into the depths of the universe on the whispers of your melody. With closed eyes and open mind can I swim among dreams of another realm, a phantasm of jasmine scented petals and cloudless skies. And can I lose myself beneath your touch as minds transcend and skin becomes merely a cloak that shrouds passion and desire that burn as the stars in the heavens. Perhaps, like the stars our souls could dance through the darkness of the night skies, illuminating every atom we touch. Can I become lost in the essence of your soul?

Karen Hayward ©2016

If you were a rose.

I wrote this, this morning as I climbed into bed next to my daughter Emily-Rose to wake her up ready for school. ♥

Drops On Blue - drop, drops, blue, rose, nature, flower

If you were a rose

I would paint you blue

like the morning sky

on a summers day,

filled with blessed promises.

And as people stop

to look upon your colour

they will see the beauty

of the universe in your petals

as I see every time I look upon your eyes.

Karen Hayward ©2016 (words)

This image is not my own I found it  here  discovered via Pinterest.

Blue skies behind a hue of white clouds.

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My soul feels in a constant state of chaos

and it feels like home.  With odd socks

and mismatched undies, with pony tails,

plaits and wildly, messy, hair. Shrills

of delight as the stars warm the night.

What the world see’s as plain I see as

divine beauty, a snail and his broken shell,

a lonely pebal on the beach, a petal floating on

the breeze ignite fires deep inside of me that

otherwise lay dormant. I skip through the

seconds in the day searching for new flames,

some burn on recognition of the soul and refuse

to burn out, flaming slowly day after day without aid.

Others burn in a millisecond flooding my soul

with passion that seeps into my fingers and onto

the empty page. Some days I search tirelessly

but the blue skies sit behind a hue of white

clouds and my soul feels momentarily empty.

 

Karen Hayward ©2016