Like Icarus
my waxen wings
have melted
but by no fault
of my own.
One can't fly
too near the sun
with veins
laden with concrete
and a heart
of stone
carved by such wicked
hands as your own
knotted and disfigured
by the disease
you inflict.
And I can
see in your eyes
the longing for mine,
smooth and soft,
a gentle touch
you shall
never again know.
And though my fear
drives my to flee
here I remain
like Prometheus bound
by my transgression
bittersweet poison
dewed upon my lips.
But none of it for you
as I know
you set me up to fall
like an angel
cast from the heavens
and fall I shall
into the abyss
of this unknown
and though my body
may be shattered
and my spirit torn
I shall walk
with my eyes
to the sky
the sun's warm caress
and quiet strength
urging me on
until I can
bear your burden
no more.