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Paul Butters Aug 2019
A massive moth outside in the night
Flings itself at
My bathroom window.
Another Icarus
Sorely tempted by the electric light within
My house.

A swooping vulture
It tries again and again,
Fracturing its fragile wings:
Battering itself to exhaustion.

Perhaps it curses some Moth God
And feels a failure in life,
Totally frustrated
At not being able to reach its imperative goal.
Not knowing
That had it succeeded
It would now be
Incinerated.

Paul Butters

© PB 25\8\2019.
Yes, I took my annual bath. hehe
c Aug 2019
Fly me
To the sun
You always like to
See me burn
As I
Fall
My future without you is so bright it’s burning
KJ Reed Aug 2019
Cup your hands to catch sunbeams.
Feel light in your veins.
Glow gold like Icarus.
And melt away into stardust.
Hasana Tombs Aug 2019
I know sometimes you feel like
you aren’t worth anything at all,
but don’t you dare forget
that the sun adored you so much
that he kissed your skin until
he could no longer tell the difference
between his flames
and your body.

You wear a halo of gold
and your eyes
are mini worlds
unto themselves.

You are not a monster.
you are a being of ash and stardust
that others are afraid of
because they can sense your glory
waiting to be unleashed.

You have the echoes of ancient praises
running through your veins,
the rhythm of an ancient drum,
beating in time with your heart,
waiting for the moment
that you will turn
from boy
to god.
                  Ode to the sunburnt boy at the back of the class
For my boyfriend
helios Aug 2019
i wear yellow and stare at planes
folding themselves into downy blue.
if i crash too, let the headline read:
icarus loved the sun
just as his father loved him
(but when the waves caught his body
he returned to his mother's embrace)
Artemis Jul 2019
They say you are Icarus.
They say you flew
for a love so great and terrible
that it killed you.

They say you fell from heavens
into dark depthless oceans.

“For Love!” They say.
“He died falling in Love!”

But I think they’re wrong.
I think you burned.
Because of a lie;
a false promise of security.

I think you were dead
before you even hit the water.

They never found your body, did they?
Hygor Marques May 2017
You are fire.
And I can burn
the warm of the title at the start.
Could you? Burnout?
Cause you still burns me inside.

It's ironic how you like it cool and fresh
You're not cool and you're not air.
You are fire.
A breath inducing and breathtaking
hell of a paradise.

Constantly I spread around:
"Fire is my favorite!"
But you never understood.
You always thought that is a childish reminder,
like this poem.
But it's honest.

I couldn't reach you last time, you know?
I felt like a kid running over a flambeau.
And you figured me out.
You saw under the flame mask,
You made my Icarus task,
and I fallen down.

After all this time and I'm not consumed.
Maybe a fool and maybe a loser,
but you're the vanity of my veins.
And you're slowly provoking me again.
Could you teach me how to fire?
Could you? This time? My dear...
I bring reinforced wings.
Jude Quinn May 2019
I am
so close to the sun
I can see the wax coming off of my wings.

So close
that I can see the Earth from here;
see you giving a ****
about whatever is going on around you,
playing it cool when things around you are set ablaze.

So close that I'm past heaven
and can tell you the doors are officially closed.
So close that I'm wondering if there's a point to any of this ****.

Pardon me, friend
if I'm sounding rude to you,
but these are tough times
so it's time for tough words.

Twenty-five years and I'm still so naïve,
thinking that we were sharing this place.
Feeling like a kid left behind after class.

Sometimes it seems to me you give for a fact
there's gonna be a place for you to sleep at night,
so you go about your day
closing your eyes when things make you feel uncomfortable
pretending that's gonna drive them away,
believing that everyone else will figure this **** out.

I'm sorry
are we caring just too much?
kaden May 2019
This is the colour of sadness and the sky, a melancholy lie in disguise that can wagon through death like a martyr, only fairy tales and history make living look harder.

This is the colour of freedom and the proud, for only a boy could touch the clouds that swell and garner, icarus laughed as he fell to the ground. Only fairytales and history make living look harder.

This is the colour of envy. Should we all have to die to touch the hands of a deity as well? Icarus puked his blushing lungs out amoung flames and floating feathers and prayers and hell. Envy isnt as loud behind the bells and harpers. Only fairytales and history make living look harder.
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