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 Jun 2 Ayu Prameswari
Words from the maker,
we hardly could ever hear,

Bereft of love and attention,
we see the diminishing concern and care.

We still pour our hearts
into this bastion we’ve held so dear.

But, alas, the kingdom and subjects,
have fallen into neglect and disrepair.
When did HP become a broken shell, a faint ghost of what it once was?
We were poets,
Hearts etched upon our sleeve
The lords of our intent,
Words bloomed for all to see.
Each branch of thought considered,
Whittled to express.
Carving the forest in our likeness
We paved the landscape with our breath.
Woods would sway in idle days
Sunkissed glades lay bathed in gold.
Nights waylaid by dancing maids
Cheap ale and tales of old.
Fires burn, flames unfold.
Embers remember
Tender clutch of the cold.
We tend to forget the bargained,
The sold.
Up rivers and creeks
Paddles, disowned by the meek,
Cast away to distant shores.  
Glades decay,  
Fade to grey.

We become poets once more.
I am utterly, entirely yours,
For only you to destroy.
~~ Something short from a long time ago. ~~
I feel too much,
I care too much.

I see too much,
I hear too much,

Even a whisper,
is heard loud and clear,

Nothing goes unnoticed,
it feels like a curse - one that I fear.

I sense too much,
I hurt too much,

I cherish joy too much,
I remember too much.

Every word
that was ever said,

Tosses and turns
in my heart
and in my head.

I think too much,
I give too much,

I know too much,
I grow too much.

I evaluate my insecurities

I punish myself
for turning out this way.

I never ask for much
I never take too much,

I never want too much,
my only real problem is ...
that I love--way, way too much.

~ I'm sorry.

By Lady R.F ©2017
 Mar 2017 Ayu Prameswari
Amanda F
The wind bears with it stories
of faces, bodies, and stillness,
It's graceful yet forceful touch ,
which carries the birds.
surfaces stretching seas,
and sends a breath of life
to the flowers, grass and trees.*

Amanda. F (c) 2017
 Mar 2017 Ayu Prameswari
Amanda F
The angelic silhouette of her intentions on paper,
fair with the golden fingerprints of the depths of her soul
so pure.
Her smile with the potential to light up a thousand dead cities in the blink of an eye,
So allure.
Her eyes play so convincing,
The calm detailed glisten in the sunlight and the sorrowful muted tone they become when her mind is far from bright.
Her idiosyncratic and highly distinctive attitude towards things never fails to amaze me,
Her heart silences her mind when only it feels what her mind can't see.
Rosalie is art
From her knowledge full and constantly absorbing mind, to her utterly beautiful heart.*

Amanda. F (c) 2017
Words dedicated to my mum
I love her so much
 Mar 2017 Ayu Prameswari
Amanda F
She paints her world
According to her pure intention.
Pure in her own figure,
Not in someone else's.
She doesn't speak,
Of words in complex.
Her mouth but translates
Her minds complexity into simplicity.
She doesn't need to speak but rare.
You've read her words,
You've witnessed the paradox
Of her pen-to-paper.
You understand her terminology
Of no bad cause.
She wordlessly preaches her rootless existence
Through the essence of her eyes,
As she hides behind the smoke of her cigarette
Extraordinary, in disguise

Amanda. F (c) 2017
Dedicated to my dear Mother - Lady R.F
With all my love
Tiny fragments
of me
now exist
within you,

They reside
in your memories;
we've made
more than a few.

Tiny fragments
of you
now exist
within me,

They remain
in my heart
in my soul infinitely.

By Lady R.F ©2016
An innocent pure-white heart
does not see manipulation coming
from a distance,

It does not imagine such hurtful things
in its gentle empathetic existence.

It does not see the dark evil monsters
behind their masks--in disguise,

It does not recognise the difference
between genuine truth and shifty ***** lies.

By Lady R.F (c) 2017
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