Sunday, December 22, 2013


Picture from Psychadelic Adventures


Do not clip my wings,
for if I try, and flutter
like a light-singed moth,
I die.
Do not steal my spark,
for if I try, and stumble
in a darkened cave, 
I die.
Do not take my song,
for if I try, and have no voice
to raise to Heaven,
I die and I,
I am a tapping on the sill,
a shadow on the wall,
an echo in the mind,
a curiosity, a loss,
a blank-paged book,
unstoried and unsung,
hero-less, unlit, 
fluttered, fallen, blind.
Undone. Undone. 
I die. I am undone.


  1. I hope this poem gets many more comments. I often feel the same myself. I don't want my wings to be clipped, my spark to be stolen or my song to be snatched. In a fiercely competitive world rejection can do all these to a human being. Sometimes i just feel like being picked up and taken to a safe place. But I have the face the harsh reality that in the end each man has to fight for himself. I can't tell you how this poem resonated with me. Merry Christmas!

  2. Poor thing! Either which way it would result in demise. There has to be salvation! Nicely Karen!


  3. what a cruel world we've created for our little butterflies.....the helplessnes is so pronounced....very nicely put

  4. And being made to conform clips many a right you are...

  5. Maybe a little less education and a little more knowledge?

  6. A most powerful poem, dear friend...and so very true.

  7. Excellent poem, Karen, and full to overflowing with wisdom. Merry Christmas!! xo

  8. I very much agree with the other comments. But sometimes it is the overcoming of adversity that brings out the spirit and disciplined conforming to and refining of dogmatic performance that sets free creative perfection. So I wonder where the bright line is to be drawn between supportive encouragement and narrow minded oppression.

  9. Whew! This poem takes my breath away! We have to resist 'dying' as long as we possibly can.