As the warmth of the sun submerged my skin,
purging the sentiments of a weightless dream,
it became apparent that it was Helios in control of my heart.
If only the wings were taken away before I flew,
Then maybe I would have survived
as opposed to being hailed a fool.
Love gave me wings and allowed me to fly,
I glided through the heavens and I soared through the skies.
My second collapse was the sun in my eyes.
To this day I am still falling, but I was brave enough to fly that close.
I would plummet into the ocean again if I had to.
I never understood why Icarus' waxen wings did mount above his reach,
but along with age and the realms of love, I assume he simply wasn't good enough.

We fell
As Icarus fell
Wingless and burning
Grasping at shards
Of the sun

Falling down and down,
wings melting to wax
until he's submerged
in inky blackness.
Falling from the
clear blue sky,
away from the
glowing, golden orb
hung high above in the air
that he flew too high, too close to
in admiration and enthrallment.
Is this treachery,
is this betrayal?
Of the sky?
Of the sun?
Of the freedom
he'd giddily reveled in?
Is he not supposed
to consider it as such?
Even as he tries to steal
a breath from the cruel water
of the capricious and cold ocean,
gasping and painfully alone?

i swear
i tried to catch the sun,
collided with icarus
on the way
he said, “hey,
where are you going?”
and fell
before i could tell him.

i said
“icarus,
there is a terrible
beauty to this world.“
i said
“icarus,
i want it all
to burn.”

and he burned,
crashed into the waves,
his flames flickered
and died.

i swear
i tried to catch the sun
before he did
but he stole it in his wings,
betrayed the sky
for a light
brighter than his own,
he was a shooting star
that i couldn’t swallow.

i said
“hey,
where are you going?”
he told me to make a wish
and fell.

i swear
i tried to catch the sun,
collided with him
on the way.

i said
“icarus,
my world is beautiful,
but terrible.”
i said,
“icarus,
i want it all
to burn.”

our wings melted,
and as the sky rained wax,
we burned.

Proof that,
  sun,
is singularity

Black holes...
and sunspots
are,
     "black."

So Icarus,
the first attempt,
      at
       -time-travel.

why do you fly too high
to the tops of branches
to the peaks of mountains
across gaping oceans
opening their mouths to swallow you whole
much like the way you devoured me
in my heart
in my head
your wings lift you to the clouds
but you never land gently
if you ever land at all
I watch and wait each lonesome day
hoping the shadow across the sun is you
returning to me
why do you soar so long
your feathers singed by the ashes you catch as you fly
do those burns leave scars in the shapes of me
your want to be something that nobody can catch
roaming the sky
in search of a yesterday that passed
I worry that you won't realize
you are not Icarus
and your wings will too burn

I like to think that Icarus smiled as he fell,
That the last sensation of Helios’ sweet fingers across his face lingered
And left him warm as the wind rushed past him,
And that he smiled at the last sight of his burning love
As the ocean embraced him,
Tender and eternal as a coffin.

It was spring
—there was a boy,
And with him was his father.
They sat along in rooms
That smelled of kerosene
And buzzed with machineries,
Their hands smudged black
With grime and plaster.

It was spring
—and his head was a golden halo.
How he was created,
I suppose we’ll never know.
So often the boy would ask,
“Father, father, what am I?”

(For if the father was trapped in his cage
With only a forge as his company,
Then what else could this little boy be?)

It was spring
—and the boy grew tall and proud.
Hair like fire and eyes like quicksand,
“My son, you will reach heights no man
Has ever reached before.”

It was spring
—and the father’s smile grew tired and weary
“I will not be caged,” and yet he was, he was.
Thus he took feathers from god-knows-where
And built wings from wax and cinders.

It was spring
—and my son, do not fly too close to the sun;
See there?
That is freedom—just do not fly too close to the sun.
And the boy nodded,
Little long nosed liar that he is.

It was spring,
—they say, when Icarus fell.
And here was freedom:
Wind sharp like glass
And the sun too warm,
The world minimal between his fingertips.
He burned bright, burned fast, died quickly.

(And they say the waves were gentle,
As clockwork spilled.)

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.

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