I don't want to be a heartbroken Daedalus. Let me have those wings so I could be the one to burn carefree into the sun selfish, ignorant, oblivious. Not grieving and delirious. Incinerate this youth, this dream to the root; an instant ball of flames, so but memory remains.
* * *
Cut my wings before I'm high Are you my Daedalus? We're not mature enough to fly. I'm not your Icarus. I'd rather be the liver of Prometheus, not himself who did deliver hope to those oblivious, misusing now his fire...
* * *
I'd rather be the liver of Prometheus than live in this illusion of deliverance The more you know, the more you're faced with ignorance; and ignorance defeats you with experience
I'd rather be the wings of Icarus and know the smell of burning feathers than have a tomb stone like the one of Sisyphus, no longer strong to push it from the nether
3 oldies sharing a common theme (no point in separating them)