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Cup my beating heart;
A delicate mortal shell
bleeds without a soul
Small haiku! ^-^
Lyn ***
An ally today, snake tomorrow.
Had to take a small nap.
Wasn't feeling too hot!
Working on the Gala now! ^-^
Lyn ***
 Aug 2018 Brandon Conway
CA Smith
Paint my world with color
Bright and vibrant hues
A lush assortment
Bright yellows and deep blues
The canvas grows heavy from the oils
Life, the big distraction
How it weaves around all that lies deep within
It's all but one fraction
and this fraction in itself to life feels like a sin

The emptiness.
We all know of it
To our yearning, its empress
Nothing ever seems to fit
Right where emptiness sits
in its grand old throne room

A loneliness.
Both residing in these enormous halls
with nothing there to impress
Even they can't keep each other company
for they're one and the same
only wearing anothers name

I listen to my favorite song
Let me read this book that's been sitting on my shelf for so long
Maybe I'll go and buy these flowers I saw the other day
Wouldn't they look just lovely in my living room, I say
how sweet, how good, all is well
in this calming simplicity I dwell
til the sin seeps through:

only a distraction;
nothing will ever fill nor forever keep what it hides
the room where empress emptiness resides
In a drop of you, I lost an ocean of me.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
Ainhara and Esshi hold the train of
my dress as we descend down the steps.
"Well, you finally made it!" Paul chuckles
walking up to me, a playful look in his eye.
"Took you long enough."
"Fashionably late. Besides, I wouldn't miss
this for the world!" I beam and curtsy.
"What have I told you about doing that?" he
arches a brow and spreads his arms. "Bring it here!"
I comply and embrace him as if he were
family before gently pulling away.

✿⊰✲⊱✿
"You remember my ladies, Ainhara and
Esshi." I beam, gesturing towards them.
As Paul kisses their hands gently and they curtsy,
I notice Paul winking Esshi's way and she has
the grace to flush.
"No flirting with my ladies!" I playfully hit
his arm and he smirks.
"Is someone jealous?"
I huff as a response and pouts as he laughs.
"Your ladies are as lovely as always!
I'm just giving them their dues."

✿⊰✲⊱✿
"Winking at Esshi is giving her her dues?"
"Yes, it is. Not my fault that you are feeling
left out."
"I am not," I roll my eyes but I cannot help
but laugh and feel more at ease. "Fantastic party
as always. That's the common theme with
Luciuscemian Kings!" he and I chuckle.
"But I don't see our guests of honour."
"Donna and Dean are on their way. They'll
be here soon, don't worry. After all this IS all
for them. So, in the meantime," he extends
a hand with a cheeky grin, "care to dance,
My Lady?"
"Do I have a choice?"

✿⊰✲⊱✿
"Nope!" Paul pulls me to the dancefloor
as the music plays, but not before I
see Ainhara and Esshi being approached
by Queen Sue and Kim who wave at me.
I return it with a big smile as the ladies chat
away.
Part 7 part 2!
Haiku Donna will make her grand entrance in part 8! ^-^
It will be out today later on!
Thanks guys, and thank you again, Rob and Yidna!
Lyn ***
What does a painter do? A painter paints.
Of paintings inspired by the universe;
Of legends luminous as pious saints.
But people like me work to fill my purse.
Not artisan by trade nor rich merchant,
With rough and stubby fingers callused palms,
I'll starve if I were the master's servant
And soon to take the streets to beg for alms.
I paint for sake of commerce not for art;
I paint all kinds of buildings, houses, schools.
None enters, jobs can't start till I depart;
Scrappers, ladders, paints, brushes are my tools.
Do what I'm commissioned to do. To paint.
But Leonardo or Angelo I ain't.
Who understands poets like us?
We see the universe in a person
We see sadness as a plus
We see the good when times worsen

Who can understand us?

We sit back and daydream
When others would despair
We grasp the magic of the moonbeam
Our hearts awaken to the fair

Who can understand us?

We put words to the artist's soul
We write the songs of bards
To voice the immortal is our goal
Of ancient legends we are guards

Who can understand poets like us?
Who can understand our hopes, our loves, or dreams except...
Each other
Time in and time out, always in a rush trying to do everything all at one time, never slowing down to see the smoke and fire they are starting. The signs always pointing in the right direction, but you always want to go the wrong opposite way. Trying to prove that your way is always right, but is sadly wrong!
With smoke riseing like a cigarette burning, as I watch, I wonder how much more it will take before, like all sparks in a dry forest, set into flames and the end will leave destruction and pain.
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