When the Sun is high above

Every thing turns white

Every thing starts to melt

And blood begins to boil

When the heat strikes with force

Every one is in need

Of a refreshing fountain of youth

Which happens to be love

When the Sun begins to burn

The skin of the hard worker

His skin begins to dry

In those forgotten lands

When the Sun burns down

The land of the Praised Sun

Nothing is left but ashes

Everything and love is now a pile of charcoal

Love is nowadays

Something so dry

Something so gray

Something stained by soot

Even heat is the source of all

This hatred making people

Scald those around then

In this land melting by the flames of Gehenna

No water can quench this wrath

That every person feel

In the City of The Sun

No justice exists

This is something Mexico

And every part of the world

Have to endure

A heat that burned down love and made wrath grow

Now the heat that my fire produces

Makes every one around me die

Wrath and hate burn down big cities

With this heat called words

Heat is what feeds them

Heat that surpasses love

And there is no salvation

When all water of love is just vapor

Forgotten in the past.

DA 2015

One of the greatest pleasures in life, especially for Prose., is discovering new talent in the literary world.

When this prolific Proser first surfaced late last year, all of us here were taken aback.

Her deeply insightful voice and stylistic variations left us curious. Admittedly, we developed a number of preconceived notions: we thought she might be older, possibly married or recently divorced. Had she retired from a long career and discovered writing late-in-life as a recently developed hobby or means of therapy?

The only way to know for certain was to ask her. Who is Lynn, really?

Born Gabriella Lynn, her friends and family often call her Belle. She was born in Corbin, Kentucky and has six siblings. She says she’s moved around quite a bit, to five different places in Kentucky, then three homes in Virginia, two in North Carolina, and finally coming back to Virginia where she currently lives.

“Years from now,” she says she hopes to further her education and land a job she can love.

P: What is your relationship with writing and how has it evolved?

L: I’d say it’s a love-hate relationship, honestly. I’ve gone back and forth trying to determine if this is something I could actually pursue as a profession or otherwise. But I think my writing has evolved tremendously. Not only in being comfortable with a style of writing but also with connecting better with myself both through my own words and others’.

P: Briefly discuss the value of reading has in your personal and professional life.

L: Reading always puts me in a good mood. It helps with creativity and learning something new. When someone interrupts me while I’m reading I get a little hostile.

Reading has greatly furthered my knowledge of the literary arts and I can’t thank authors enough for sharing that part of themselves. Every book I’ve read has influenced me in some way, and changing lives is a big deal. Every person who has tried or does write is an inspiration.

P: Describe your current literary ventures. What can we expect to see in future posts?

L: I’ve never been much of a risk taker, but I plan to continue trying new styles of writing. I’ve been trying to read some of my pieces aloud in hopes to grow more comfortable with what I’m writing, but I always seem to fall short. I guess I’m embarrassed to share a part of my mind openly like that, even if it’s only the walls to hear it.

As for future posts, I would say expect to see more poetry. Things that have to do with lost love and summer scents. But I’m no psychic. My mind has a habit of surprising me from time to time. I might attempt to even write a few short stories but, as I said before, I’m not much of a risk taker.

Prose. means everything to me. I’ve published more than 400 posts and almost every single one (if not all) would not have been created if it weren't for this place.

I have never connected with a group of people like this, especially with writing, and it means the world, the universe and all the stars to me. I have no websites or blogs so, if you’re here on Prose., you won’t miss anything.

Be sure to follow @Lynn here on the app and visit theprose.com/Lynn to read more from her growing body of work.

__________________________

This #FridayFeature blog series is designed to help you get to know your fellow community members better. Would you like to nominate someone for interview? Have a question you’re dying to ask of someone on the platform? Send us a private message here or visit our contact page to get in touch: theprose.com/p/contact.

he pulls up his jeans

as night begins to fade

he leans in to say goodbye

with a kiss on my face

he fumbles and falls

as he makes his way out

i mumble to the walls

phrases i wish i could shout

i hear his car sputter to a start

as he drifts away

with him he took my heart

why can't i make him stay?

something's missing in my chest

as much as i wish it was the absence of breath it's just where love's been taken and not returned

his blind smile and frigid words

have left me burned

i wait for evening to come

so i can forget i'm not the one he loves

So what part of me makes me a prophet

One who can foresee every kiss I will receive

Or when the world, my world, in flames will burst

The only lie I can predict is this life of mine

So what part of me makes me a tarot reader

One able to read between the lines of papers

Representing millions of lives on this planet

One who can only read in books what love truly is

So what part of me makes me a medium

Able to chat with spritis from the past

One who can speak the tongues of death and life

Both at the same time

Both making me live and die

Tell me what part of me truly belongs to me

When no cards or crystal balls can tell me the truth

The only truth I seek is you

And you seem to be aware of that

However, you prefer to be another shadow in this life of mine

My third eye is closed now.

DA 2015

the air's sweet with death;

not the kind with

rotted flesh

but with a spring breeze

bringing in the scent of

scraped knees

and

decaying leaves

honeysuckles

bloom

and their aroma is

nostalgic,

a reminder of a simpler time

when romance was magic

and life wasn't a tragic

lie

it's ironic how

nature masks out

the smell of our agony

with flowers and lost

memories.

it almost takes the

pain away

it almost makes

all of this

okay

She's my best friend,

Together we don't have to pretend.

We let loose and are always laughing.

Driving.

Singing.

Music blasting.

We talk every single day,

I promise our friendship will never die away.

She,

I will never hurt and will always defend,

Because she's my best friend.