Stifled

Will it be flowers or feathers or faries
That take me to my imagination?
Maybe all three will meet there in
The light of an idea.
And maybe the flowers will grow
And the feathers will fall
And the fairies will fly.
Or perhaps the exuberance
Will falter with the death of the thought.
Opened but unused the almost creation
Is left in pieces floating amongst
The feathers and fairies.
Lights go out one by one
Like blown out candles
Until it's too dark to see the shadows.
Imagination has Given way to reason and logic
No time for play.
Flowers and feathers and fairies have
Dried and crumbled away.

Lyn Geist

Reviews

[Tomorrowneverknows]

Maybe the spell of fire left your imagination run free until as you write:

"Imagination has given way to reason and logic
No time for play"

I really like the sensitivity and elegance of the poem and how your words flow smoothly .

Jesus

[LynGeist]

Thank you Jesus. Sometimes it seems that just when the creative spark flares, life sniffs it out again. Thankfully that is only sometimes

[Tomorrowneverknows]

You are welcome Lyn. In my view your your poetry is very sensitive and elegant.

[Roger Turgeon]

Its a shame that reality often prevents us from exploring our imagination. I get it.

[LynGeist]

I agree, it is a shame. I've learned to harvest the creative time and refuse to let reality seep in. It doesn't work all the time though. :-)