stubby wings

What I gained I lost,
what I had I never loose,
What I have lost I never had have!

I can fly, over the stars,
It is just a shortcut to find yourself.
But cut my wings and I will be struggling.
Maybe I will even die.

The perennial night will close the final door,
The furphies will become alive,
a dove will fly,
but what I have imagine, it still will die!

Once I have canopied my thoughts,
once you have sepulchred what I am,
once i am inhumed... just cut off my poor, stubby wings.

What else to tell!