While soaring ever so close to the sun,
Icarus burned off his wings and scorched—
His skin prickled from the melted wax
That once had carried him above the skies.
He fell from the grace he sought,
Yet in the midst of the chaos of it all,
His eyes remained fixed upon the object—
Of his desire and unbending adoration.
The sun, shining bright in the distant sky,
Offered Icarus no help but patronization.
He stretched his hands, trying to grasp
That radiant sun in his final moments.
Meanwhile, in the distance, his father scurried—
Daedalus, watching his nightmare unfold
Before his very eyes—his own son
Falling to what would become his finality.
He fought the tears welling in his eyes,
Wondering what poor Icarus would become.
Yet in what seemed a scene of lunacy,
Daedalus saw his poor son, Icarus, laughing.
The arid wind swept through Icarus’s hair,
His laugh defying the logic of his plight.
He fell while reaching for the grace he sought—
Yet in the midst of it all, Icarus fell, smiling.