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Cheryl Wang Mar 2016
they say
if you reach too close
to the sun

you fall
to the depths
of the ocean below

like icarus
on his wings of melting wax.
Clara Romero Mar 2016
Why did you do it?

You must have felt the hot drips of wax on your back,
known that your flight would soon be over.
So why did you stay up so high?

Did you know you'd become a warning?
A moral?
Was the height so exhilarating you forgot yourself?
Caught up in youthful idiocy like they say?

Or was it the first time you truly felt Apollo's rays?
Felt the light shining on your wings?
Did you fall in love with the sun?
And the sweet burn of melting wax and falling feathers?
I know I did.

Did you know it would soon be over?
Did you still climb higher?
Try to get a little bit closer?
Even as it burned?

Daedalus was just jealous you could fly higher than he ever dared to.
Jealous of your youth. Your freedom.
Cause you loved ever minute of it.

Icarus, did you know you were going to fall?
Decided it was worth it?
Your precious moments of freedom worth every terrified moment of descent
Because those breathes in the sun were the most beautiful ones you'd ever take.
Kids like us know: the best high is the one followed by the fall.

Icarus, they wanted you to be a lesson,
But I never saw you as anything but an inspiration
Lowkey inspired by Musee des Beaux Arts by W.H. Auden but not really
many stories
beforehand
have warned me
about the likes
of you

ones that
brightly blaze
radiant
majestic
mischievous

ones you
should never
allow yourself
to come close
to love

but it was
cunningly
inevitable
our tale
of two

you were the sun
and I was Icarus
i was meant
to fall
for you
Name XI Jan 2016
"you deserve someone beautiful.
let no one tell you otherwise."*
you think of her,
and you think
of dimly lit january midnights,
of poetry-filled evenings,
of renewed hope each morning,
of tireless afternoons waiting;
of crossed-finger whispers,
of untouchable constellations,
of iron-hearted wolf princesses,
of kindergarten hesitation;
of seconds between held breaths,
of clandestine glances,
of daylight cast upon her hair
of radiance.
you think of her,
and she is the sun.

or if you should think of me,
you would think
of inebriated exchanges,
of secrets drowned in caffeine,
of brushed away tears,
of faces within screens;
of image noise and film grain,
of ink-stained hands,
of nebulous confessions,
of an esoteric slow dance;
of adventitious white lies,
of flickering innocence,
of fire and brimstone,
of convenience.
you think of me,
and i am the ocean.

i am not saying
i am not deserving of you,
only that i am not the sun.
i am the ocean,
and you will only fall into me
after she has left your wings coming undone.

men do not attempt flight
in hopes of their descent.
men do not craft wings
seeking to fly into the convenient.
men like you have been wise enough
not to sink into girls like me.
girls like her have been kind enough
to keep themselves out of your reach.

she is the sun,
and you have flown too close.
your body is a kite lost to the wind,
just like what your father feared most.
i am the ocean,
and the possibility of you feels so close.
i count the seconds until you make contact
like a ticking alligator in the shadows.
i want to believe that it is bad
to want this so badly, believe me
i wish that when you broke my surface
it did not satiate me so quickly.
because for a moment
you may find me beautiful,
how my cool waves soothe your burns
and you feel featherlight in this lull.
but no one stays in the ocean for too long—
others' fingers prune away
others leave out of boredom
and though others return none actually remain.
perhaps you could be different,
perhaps you would never leave me for the shore.
and should you decide to stay,
there would be nothing i'd want more.

but should you start gasping for air,
should you tire of the taste of saltwater and the sight of blue,
should your arms start reaching out again towards her,
i will not take it against you.
you deserve someone beautiful.
to deprive you of this would be a great transgression.
after all she is the sun,
and i am only the ocean.
(yes i know icarus fell into a /sea/ but "ocean" sounded nicer with "sun" OK I'M SORRY FIGHT ME)
ally Jan 2016
One day you will meet someone
And you will understand why Icarus flew too close to the sun.
J Valle Nov 2015
His body emerged
From the deep blue ocean
Heart barely beating and
Eyes almost closed

They left him for dead.

The sun's light burned him
And its heat suffocated him
But he kept wondering
How would it feel
To touch the sun.

Once again,
Icarus rose
Towards the sun

Believing this time
Things would be different
But as long as the sun
Remains the sun
And Icarus
A blind believer
Fate won't change its course

So, once again,
Icarus fell.
And found himself
More broken
Than before.
Rachel Sterling Sep 2015
For once in my life I want to be happy
happy and hopeful and confident
I want to not beat myself down before anything can happen
Or repeatedly remind myself that it's "probably nothing"
I want to go to bed and not worry that I said the wrong thing
or that I'm thinking too much
Or not enough.
I want to not feel like my feelings
(or my heart)
are too much
I want to not have to feel like I need
to squelch my wants and my hopes and my dreams
because if I dare to reach for them I am going to get smacked for thinking that any of that is something I could ever have.
I want to not feel scared of letting myself love.
I want to not feel scared to be authentic in my current existence.
I want to be allowed to shout who I am and how I feel
from where ever I want.
But that's not the world we live in.
I can't.
I can't fly up too high or too close to the sun.
People who fly too close to the sun get burned and fall to their deaths.
The sun doesn't let things hug it.
It doesn't want a friend.
Not even another sun.
succulentirl Aug 2015
during a quiet spring sunset,
there was a foolish young boy,
precariously searching for release.

with fragile wings,
his father composed of
feathers and wax,
he had finally escaped.

he paid no heed to the warning,
“don’t fly too close.”

reaching for the sun was pure insanity,
as he realized all too soon,
his efforts were completely wasted.

oh how the wings,
of wax rapidly melted.

with clutching hands,
and a desperate cry
up towards the sky,
he fell to the sea.
steven Aug 2015
I've been making deals
with my talons as they
graze my tufts of fur—
perfection is poison I don't
want in my blood. The contract
is written for the weak, the
signature line too divine
for my name. I must learn to
walk with feet, not wings. The
sun is already at a lovely low;
surely my wax frame would
spill into the ocean if I were to
ever attempt to kiss it.
Haven't written anything in a long while because of college classes
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