I've been making deals
with my talons as they
graze my tufts of fur—
perfection is poison I don't
want in my blood. The contract
is written for the weak, the
signature line too divine
for my name. I must learn to
walk with feet, not wings. The
sun is already at a lovely low;
surely my wax frame would
spill into the ocean if I were to
ever attempt to kiss it.

I wish they clipped
the wings off Icarus's back
before he took flight.

It would have been easier that way.

He could have stayed flightless,
some sort of meatsack
with little wax stumps
growing out of his back,
not unlike those of trees.

The story of Icarus
was not made to scare us
away from flying
too close to the sun.

The story of Icarus
was made to scare us
from flying at all.

You know what the stories say
About me. They call me silly,
Foolish, disobedient. They say
I should have listened to my
Father. Now he was a guy
Worth listening to: the one
Who built the labyrinth -- the one
That caged the bull-headed beast
And sent virgins, hopelessly
Lost, to their deaths.

He made me a pair of wings
And when he was finished
told me to contemplate my
mortality. And not to fly too close
To the sun. For the feathers
Were joined only by wax and days
But the sun was made of
molten fire and eternity.

How could I listen though?
When after so long
Penned in the cool, dim labyrinthine
Depths of his workshop, I was finally
Free. A soft warm shaft of sunlight
pierced me through and I was lost.
On my ****** flight, I was ecstatically
lost, rising madly to the shivering
brink of infinity.

Imagine me with my great white
waxen feathered wings circling
(Circling) (Circling) spiraling
Higher and higher to a crisis.

Oh I melted.
Then I fell.

I do wish they'd asked me how I'd have
Liked to be remembered though: Not
the merely foolish bull-headed kid
who refused to obey,
But the dreamer with wild eyes,
The one who once flew
too close to the Sun
And briefly,
(All too briefly)
Blazed.

As if it were on fire, the earth around us aches with
burgundy and ochre. The sun herself has dimmed;
an apology for the wrong she has done you.

Man-made angel, wings of wax and stolen feather,
melted against the heat of a grieving sun.
You played with the fates and so your string was cut.

The ladies of the river cry tears of salt and sorrow.
They dress you in their misery, silken fingers grazing
against scorched and lifeless skin.

Now, Icarus, you meet your final glory and
escape from Crete. Do you know the ties that bind you
have no bearing where you’ve gone?

I was once confined in colossal walls
Each corner and path lead to the unknown
Thought of escaping by flying above this cage
On a contraption Daedalus called his own

I saw the end of the labyrinth
The sweet smell of liberation filled the air
I saw another thing-- much brighter, more captivating
To ignore the beauty of Sol, I wouldn't even dare

I knew reaching the sun was pure insanity
I knew I wasn't supposed to go near it
But what was stopping me?
What could get in the way between you and me?

All my efforts flying up were completely wasted
It didn't even take a while to realize
How the wings made of wax quickly melted
Down I go in utter surprise

I used to think that only animals are kept inside cages
Now I know why hearts are confined in them, too
To keep us from listening to the temptations of its sinful desires
Before we realize it all too soon

during a quiet spring sunset,
there was a foolish young boy,
precariously searching for release.

with fragile wings,
his father composed of
feathers and wax,
he had finally escaped.

he paid no heed to the warning,
“don’t fly too close.”

reaching for the sun was pure insanity,
as he realized all too soon,
his efforts were completely wasted.

oh how the wings,
of wax rapidly melted.

with clutching hands,
and a desperate cry
up towards the sky,
he fell to the sea.