Friday, September 12, 2014


You turned me into metaphor,
you did not see my face,
my voice was barely heard,
my heart did have no trace.

I was imagined construct,
some image in your mind,
the truth of me eternal lost,
no part of me defined.

I had become a shadow,
my shape was fluid form,
identity had been denied,
projection had me torn.

You did not see my nature,
you did not touch my soul,
you turned me into metaphor;
dross from what was gold.


Crippled bird with broken wings,
falls in feathered, dusted cry,
holding to the arms of day,
weeping as the angels sing.

Love denied, the soul takes flight,
sails on breezes long denied,
whispers to the wounded heart;
disappears in darkest night.

Spirit thirsts through open beak,
small claws hold the twig of time,
destiny does shake the tree;
joy will learn again to speak.


  1. A very poignant plaint, with intense metaphors throughout. Thanks, Roslyn. k.

  2. Very clever use of the metaphor. I particularly like the second stanza.

  3. rich and nuanced - how often we see others only though our own lens.

  4. touching metaphors....shadows and and denial

  5. Your second poem is an excellent example..

  6. Yes, that second poem really showed it.

  7. Have to echo those above--the 2nd part is the heart of this write... especially liked
    how you ended it, "destiny does shake the tree;
    joy will learn again to speak" indeed it will...

  8. Enjoyed both, the first about one becoming the "metaphor,"and especially the second using metaphor of the "crippled bird." Amazing how that might define each of us at some point in our lives. Well done!

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