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Madison Mar 12
I wanted the butterflies in my stomach
To regrow their wings
So I looked you in the eyes
And you smiled at me,

they took flight once again.
miguel.
You are without excuse
-and so am I.
The pinpricks above my fertile veins
are finally starting to heal.
You wanted something of value
and I offered myself willingly.

You lent me your Icarus-wings
and I flew too high
-too far.
I believed that I could soar,
but your wings melted,
seared into my skin
and wax-dripping,
I fell through your fingers.

Your fingers,
so willing to touch, take
-they were never stretched,
never waiting, never there
And my arms, my chest
my throat, bared and battle scared.

I traced their lines
in the mirror this morning,
and felt the frightful push
of a final scream,
still trapped in my lungs.
My heart doesn’t beat
-it hammers in my chest,
surrounded by arteries
cold and void.
I never did stop falling.

And I fear the ocean,
fast approaching, vast and dark.
Will it shatter me like glass,
or swallow me with that final
scream clenched between my teeth?

I choke on it,
bite it back
-if I choose this one thing,
all else is lost.
If I break my silence
your face will be blurred
from my memory
-rendered red and screaming
as the day you emerged
into this world.

Sun-kissed red
you watched this myth unfold.
You beheld the work of your hands,
the final Icarus-fall,
the plunge toward a hungry ocean.

A cry of rage-fear-freedom
met your ear and birthed tears.
You mourned my death
at my rebirth.
And I found myself in the waves
freed at last,
my self-imposed slavery to gravity
at its end.

Envy blinded and deafened
by rage, you cannot know
the life I have found
when your grasp slipped
on the tether of my soul.
So, this tremendous fall marks the end of a series of poems called #sinceyouleft. I haven't put many of them up here, only the striking ones, and of course; this one - the final one.
It was originally called 'A Final Scream' but it seems to have chosen its own name, and Icarus suits it just fine. Hope you like it...
Arisa Mar 3
I wish I could fly
And visit all of my friends
Before they are gone.
Zach Houle Feb 25
Imagine for a moment
That you could fly
Soar around the world
Through the golden skies

Imagine if we could
Forget our sorrows
Leave them all behind
For a better tomorrow
snowflakes burn on the cheeks
filtering the clad of trees
with grey nostalgia underneath,

Mother said, "let's make
a scarf with those wings"
the commodity out of necessity

for the weather only permits
threads of white, to rest
as supine angel ghosts

remain like chalk pictures
of suns and dreams yet to be
on the street which colors fade

for she walks, with
a spool of feathers on her neck
wondering why,

she couldn't fly like everybody else.
winter doesn't come in our part of the world, only rain or ashes cloud our skies.
Poetic T Feb 17
skimming the surface
upon celestial deep ponds

universal tides
Space travel Haiku style
My heart is bleeding, my soul is too, crying for attention.
It is crying for you.
You make me fly, like a bird in the night.
Just to be hidden by the cold daylight.
Let me love you, don't push me away.
I'd always care for you, just tell me to stay.
Kale Feb 12
He is as hopeless as flying a kite made of clouds.
Now, some may say that that was impossible, improbable.
Some may even call it magical.
He did not see it that way.

In his eyes, he was as useful as a fraying rope.
Always on the edge of breaking,
Unstable.

His chest felt empty,
As if the dust left from his shattered heart had finally blown away.
The only thing there was his ribcage,
Trapping lungs that barely worked.

He believed he was hopeless.

To her, that was not the case.

She took his soul and painted grey and blue skies,
And used her own soul to glue him back together.

She flew her cloud kite proudly through the sky,
Doing tricks and running with it,
Smiling the whole time.

He is as hopeless as flying a kite made of clouds.

He is not hopeless.
Mohith Feb 10
When the grey shades creeps
I fly , fly high
I never see the leaves fallen apart,
The dwindling light.
I just fly, high and above
To the zenith.
How
Ready A Flight

I miss
grenadine yearly
on the
newt yet
here with
Shultz a
moon in
Jupiter that
everyone slept
their keen  
to surface
now with
brown as
beans with
the syrup
are ready
this flight
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