Remote…when sleep whispers

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A split division of time traversing distance,
A minds inability to commute, conjures resistance,
But the soul craves truth, is insistant…

Now, is a concept of time rooting us to a moment,
the past as we breathe air into lungs deflating
before the present has a chance to conceive
Plausibly creating moment of movement, so we may believe.

But, I can map a Constellation of me to you, you to me,
Measure it in miles, seconds, oceans, hours, you see?
and then perceive such a chasm of space, physically.

Seven Russian dolls sitting on a shelf
A vortex of reality each within themselves
The past, the future, dimensions to delve.

Perception splits into uniformed understanding,
Group saving elicit pedigrees of knowledge
on post it notes without the sticky banding.

I perceive movement through the decaying of life,
rotting atoms of time losing this fight
But beauty is in the ancient, the essence of life.
And rebirth calls on spring whispers, always new light.

Stack the dolls in a black hole of despair
Merge linear perceptions, viewing to share,
and now becomes everything, yet, never quite there.
Nothing, all, void, everything… Space we now share.

Space we now share, kinetic vibrations
a pendulum swings dispersing sedation
Time, distance, miles and oceans have no relation,
In chiming sequence of tolling bells
A moments space, a moments realisation.

No distance, miles, seconds or otherwise,
Just two beneath the glittered skies
A moment captured, paused and stilled
together, now, nothing, everything and all,
Time conceptualised in beats of seconds
moving hands and changing dates…

…and there between the beats I found you, here but there… Here, together through the shared sense of now… There, seconds, miles, hours and oceans. Not here, not there… But somewhere.

Karen Hayward ©2018

Candy floss soul… 

… And as the pale sun burned fiercely through wandering thoughts she tucked away the delicacies of her soul, ran her fingers through blush pink silken threads, muted green satin bows, gently stroked rich purple velvet and pressed delicate feathers to her lips. She closed Pandoras chest, not turning the key. Her secret? Beyond titanium lays the intricate threads of a candy floss soul. Rays of sun upon deep breaths tickling her tongue, she knew, with trust must come vulnerability… And as the pale sun burned fiercely through wandering thoughts she left the chest open,
knowing it was time…

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image found on pinterest. 

Pearlescent kisses on tender cheeks.

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Selene, are you here
for the whispers
of my waning soul?
As I slept beneath
your pearlescent beads
did you shroud
me from sight?
If I sit now and stare
upon your face
in the infinite depth
of darkness,
will you kiss me,
caress me, leave a
sheen of your energy
flowing through me?
As I wane will
you catch me…

Karen Hayward ©2017
Image and words

…and still.

mikewildyelginger1

We were intensity,

the burning embers of passion

traversing the corridors of time.

We were love.

Whispered on a Jasmine breeze

and devoured upon the tuberose.

We were the days we never knew

were falling grains of sand,

we were a lifetime in the seconds

between the beats of our heart.

One soul,

divided between two bodies

we were the epitome of existence,

my fires raged on your command,

as yours calmed upon my whisper.

One voice spoken in a million tongues…

Yet so often we spoke without words.

You were the wisdom I was the chaos,

you were the wild and I was the calm.

God, how we devoured one another,

pushing and pulling our love,

forcing sight upon our souls…

You were the cleanser I was the healer,

we were love.

From the torn edges of celestial

skies we were flames in unite…

And now you are gone,

and now I am here,

even life couldn’t keep us apart,

but now my dear soul,

you are my guiding star.

Living eternal life within my heart.

Karen Hayward ©2017 June 17th

Image © MJG

. . . because beauty comes in many guises.

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. . .because beauty comes in many guises.

External beauty, seen only in the
dark shadows, kissed by a crescent
moon, shroud in storming clouds.

Internal beauty, heard only between
the speckled flakes of cosmic dust
dispersed on opalescent beams.

External beauty gracing the page
in the aesthetic ink of bleeding
wounds and echoed screams.

Internal beauty never fading
perpetual light illuminating eyes,
hope, splattered about life’s canvas.

External beauty duels time and age
captured moments of supremacy
a catalyst of inspired thought, for. . .

Internal beauty needs no parade
in her mellifluous symphony.
Internal beauty needs no parade.

Rob Gordon & Karen Hayward © 2017
Image ©2017 KH