Digging into my past blog archives and stoke at how I use to write better poems than now. I can't remember when and why I abandoned all that's poetic and poetry.+++Aviatesurreal meadows on glass eyes,she aviates through spiral grass.in splendid snow colored bod,she dazzles spectators below.fixed as Ayn Rand's mind,leaving no sign of past beingness,free as a magical bird she goes,flaps of wings in careful seemliness.one waves his hand goodbye,sad yet happy she give him two.So she flies higher and further,'til the clouds consumed her view.dead liliestears...
