Morning frost and Sunday melodies. 

Morning mist sweeping through quiet streets, kissing frost embraced blades of luscious Green grass as a pale sun hides from sight, gathering Sunday morning thoughts on gentle melodies of songs gone by. And I watch the magpie, watching me and I know the ancient symbolism of its soul like the back of my expressive pen that pours ink haphazardly across the blank canvas of a soul awakening, sleeping, awakening and I hear the whispers of higher thought calling through droplets of dew quenching a thirst I cannot see and she is gone, her song echoing still…I watch the mist curling, swirling thick and heavy as an ancient, Druid perhaps, corner of my soul awakens at the soft call of home.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image found on pinterest. 

A constellation of symbolism written across the skies.

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Your essence holds
a constellation
Of love, the intricate
pathways of
existence, your
desire is a star
lighting my skies…
Your presence,
well, that’s just
coveted in symbolism,
The Angels whisper.
Loudly, to make me Hear.

Karen Hayward (c)2017
Image and words

Dark shadows of mistrust.

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I see you in the dead of night,
hiding in the shadowed light
Out of sight.

My instinct says go forth,
Seek the things you always sought.
Forget the doubt that life has bought.

I see it all, every path,
From the finish to the very start,
I map it out in the dark.

Lone wolf that walks alongside my demons, baring your teeth,
At all you meet,
whispering,
You are never beat,

Lone wolf, that walks beside my spirit,
That walks inside my heart,
That guards me from the dark.