Davy Jones locker.

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Each grain of sand a broken heart saved by Davy Jones to insulate his locker. The melancholic melody protected in the Seas of the fallen. Soldiers of the depths collecting pain as I collect the tiny shards of green glass beaten and worn down by pain until it is spat back ashore, smooth and frosted. I ponder as I search the tiny piece of glass, how much heart ache did it take before it reemerged as this tiny slice of beautiful perfection.

Karen Hayward ©2016

Strawberry sweets…give me what I need.

I don’t find comfort
In arms,
Wrapped round me
Tightly,
Holding me,
it’s there that i find a desire
To run, to fight.
I don’t find comfort in false
Testimonies of sisterhood,
Or fallen tears for
The pain i have shed.
I find comfort in the knowing,
Knowing that if i need to pause,
your arms are open,
You will not hold me tight,
you will simply hold me,
Till i am ready, again to fight.
Give me truth, always truth,
I am stronger than i appear,
and it is the fractured cliches
that break me, not words
Uttered from an honest tongue.
And if the day does ever come,
when i cry instead of run…
Say nothing, let me rest my head against your beating heart,
And say nothing.

What a mistake we made…

Oh, what a mistake we’ve made,
You never should have gone,
You really should have stayed.
So many years have come and gone,
So many tears, so many wrongs.
With lovers for company,
we were never alone,
are all chances finally blown? 
Or does the lure of the extroadinary,
that hides beneath the ordinary,
call out your name,
can things ever be the same.
Oh, what a mistake we made.