I sometimes catch my shadow

Photo

I sometimes
catch
the not so distant
sound of footsteps
lurking in past
shadows
walking
behind us.
Do you hear
mine? Bleeding,
tar like energy
through the
Open vines of our
existence.
Then the sun rises
and our past
shadows creep
Into our future self’s
Vivid darkness
contrasting light
I sometimes hear
the footsteps
of your shadowed
past creeping
alongside my
demons and I
wonder are they too
tied by the echos
of ancient maps.

Karen Hayward ©2017
Image and words

Falling tears

Will you catch my tear?
When beneath a soothing
moon in the dark shadows
of alone they fall. Will you
catch them, gently, collect
them in pretty jars to
place on dusty shelves
and keep them out of sight.
Will you embrace my pain
caress its sharpened edges
and accept my broken
weakness. Will you catch
my tear? Hold within
your palm my vulnerable
existence, will you share
with me this experience.
Where no man has seen
the falling of my tears,
will you catch them, please?
Will you love them as you
love me.. . . will you?

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image from wordpress

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. 

Beauty that lays beyond the silk petal. 

To be vulnerable is to be 

weak. At all times 

weaknesses should be 

guarded, 

with your life. 

Let no man nor beast 

Feast 

Upon that which can break you.
A stage for one, a noisy 

Audience, everyone hearing 

No one watching…
How easy it has been 

To hide all within, 

To be weak was never a choice,

Survivals dependency 

Is reliant upon my

Strength. 
To survive, the fittest evolve. 

I fear evolution is upon me.
Karen Hayward © 2017

Image and word’s. 

Vulnerable fatality. 

I could fall into oblivion. I want the silence of my mind and the four walls that block out the world. I could tumble head first through the swollen clouds and become lost, someplace dark, isolated in the depths of the universe. Not forever, just for a moment. A millisecond of infinity travelling through the illuminating lights of nothing. The vast eternal skies of emptiness. I could numb my processors stop the existence of reality, be a vulnerable fatality. I could be a vulnerable fatality. I could fall into oblivion as I am engulfed by reason and as I splinter, crystals shimmering as they scatter, I could fall into oblivion. Crumpled beneath the searing heat, broken beneath the waning moon vulnerability my fatality make this my new reality, in a world lost of rationality, I could be a vulnerable fatality.
Karen Hayward ©2016

Behind the frenzy.

I want the frenzy, I want what comes next.
I want the passion, I need what comes after.
I want the abandonment in a paradox of enlightenment.
I want to give you the depth of my soul and spill it across your spirit,
Empty me like Pandora’s box…then look me in the eyes and hold that bit of me.
Caress that darkness.
See the rawness of my vulnerability, and love me anyway.

Karen Hayward ©2016

Vulnerability of darkness.

As I wake in the dead of night,
Illimination my only light,
I see the sights from which I fight,
I am weakened by the deadly night.

As I sit in silent reflection
spectres evaluate their vulnerable selection,
I know my light will be my detection,
I am weakened by the gentle reflection.

As I puzzles how shadows move,
On a cloudy morn with no moon to sooth,
I wonder what the devil takes and what I lose,
As I puzzle over how shadows move.

As I sit in mornings glory
Life, another persons broken story,
I winder if darkness is always so gory,
As I wonder in mornings glory.

Karen Haywarf ©2016.