All the things I cannot be

Alas, I cannot give to you the transcendence of celestial grace whispered on the warm sigh of the universe. I cannot make promises of eternal oneness our souls lost within the essence of same. The heavens may not be ours and the skies may never rain tears of joy for solace of our unity. I have no power to wield such fantasies, I have only the now. I cannot command the universe, I can only command my heart. I know not the frequency of existence, I know only the love I have for you. I cannot give you transcendence, for I have only the power to love. I have only love to give you. I have only love to give you. It is raw and lacks the boundaries of beauty. It is real and lacks the veil of falsities. It is love and it transcends the edge of time it wields the power of life. It is all I have. My love for you is all I have to offer.

Karen Hayward ©2016 (Image and words)

Time moves between the shadows

The universe doesn’t pass time in the moving of seconds,
Instead, the ascending and descending of life events.
First there is birth to the perfect parents.
Not perfectly good or perfectly rich,
hell they might not even be perfectly hitched.
But for purpose sake, the bond is purposefully stitched.
Or un-stitched in some cases.
At a soul level you’ll recognise their faces,
past lives leaves scars, freckles, tiny traces.
Childhood happens, you might be rich you might be poor,
the universe keeps ticking never keeping score,
look around at the beauty, she only wants, that you want more.
For some there is light, for some of us dark
and as the grains of sand slip, we all walk a path,
Living becomes a story that leaves another mark.
Till finally we learn there are lessons at hand,
Life is a map only our souls know the plan,
from the moment of birth when Terra began.
They’ll be tears, they’ll be hurt and boy they’ll be pain,
they’ll be days when we count seconds by the drops of grey rain,
and some of us sadly, will be driven insane.
But alas time must trickle through the portals neck,
as we eat, pray, play, work and slumber in bed,
Till finally we wake, then we are led.
For each soul that wanders for each mind that grows,
lessons are delivered knowledge is sown,
and time passes by in a constant flow.
Some of us lucky our lessons we learn,
twin flames found at the very first turn.
Some of us feel time, feel time, as each second burns,
time hesitates, stammers and screams,
we can’t figure out what the symbols mean,
we can’t make sense of the time that has been.
The universe doesn’t pass time in the beating of hands,
time is explored through our souls and their plans,
some paths we can’t and some paths we can.
Karen Hayward ©2016 (Image and words)

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They’re Catholic, does it matter?

Their love is different. Perhaps it matters.

They’re Catholic, does that matter? I say it like it does, like the cross in their window bears their souls, but where was God when she fell? Some people spill love from their pores in caring smiles and mindful nods. Her twinkle near most left that day, and for a moment I saw doubt in his eyes. He looks like St Nicholas, smiles like an old pirate and looks at his wife as though he has found the grail, I suspect he has. I suspect unbeknown to him, them, all of us, he has found that which is more holy, more powerful and more beautiful than any other earthly matter. Their love is different. The passion comes in his early morning jolts to the allotment, the way he stops at the corner looks back and waves like a mad man drowning at sea, anything to see that twinkle in his gals eye. She aged, over night, but her beauty never faded and her belief never drained. She smiles now with those sparkly blue eyes lined with tears as she hobbles past on his arm, the broken hip a memory of the past that remains in her gait, him in cut of shorts, a baggy office shirt buttoned up high and white spangly legs… They’re catholic, devout, they go to my church that I pretend to forget to attend and as I sit beneath the muted blues of an evening sky and watch him wander by I wonder. They’re Catholic. Does it matter?

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image and words

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Atoms folding in

We are all broken
fragments of hope,
scattered tirelessly
through times
path across linear
dimensions
weaving through
planes of existence
here upon Terra.
Poor ageing Terra.

Then Gaia kissed life
into us, the skin
was her canvas
and the scars the
colours as Mother
painted energy
between the deep
rivets adding gentle
brush strokes of
silent hues
and vivid screams
of life.

Her paints run low now,
her waters are dry,
the air dirty,
her creation is
decaying, compromised,
the canvas rotting…

Karen Hayward ©2018

Image via WordPress

Awake

Sometimes, in days past and in mornings wake
among busy droplets of lavender
and burning skies of dawns glorious lake,
She saw tiny glimpses of him, right there.
Two souls peaked and primed, watching from afar,
tentacles of the unseen, leaving trails
of speckled kisses beneath wakeful stars
weaved in the essence of man’s mindful tales.
Simple eyes see with blind platonic thought
beyond aesthetics, raw, unearthed beauty
the soft whispers of what a soul has sought
light within the pits of reality.

Perhaps souls, eachother had always known, 
not seeing the physical, they saw home. 

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image and words
#sonnet

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In 
such dreams 
I lose self
between gentle
yellow rays of sun 
falling from the heavens
dawns melody imploding
as silence explodes and I hear
natures orchestra kissing my soul
Awake I see only beauty 
between the devils shadows 
The perfection of flaws 
Purity of truth
experience 
of being 
human 
Life

Karen Hayward ©2018 image and words