all that is poetry

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.

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Aviate

surreal 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 lilies

tears of lilies on scattered earth;

fettered souls of the offended;

lies and deceit your pillows;

sweet broken dreams.. your bed.

hollow eyes of the sky;

twinkling stars of dimming morrows;

where wishing and hoping is but a feat,

and all my thoughts of you and all your broken vows.

Written by FW