When Icarus falls
Who can say that
He does not turn his own back
To the fact that
The ploughman’s family
Are shrivelled on a diet
Of failing crops
And that the only two
Imperturbable components
To the serenity of his fallen world
Are the sun and the sea
That wash blue and gold
Over the evidence
Who can say that
Icarus is not so consumed
With the boiling wax upon his shoulders
And the screams in his throat
That he has casually
Failed to realise
That the ploughman on the cliff
Has just as far to fall

I think what Icarus forgot
Was that the sun was never his to touch,
Blinding and beautiful as it was.
Yet he reached anyway--
Doesn’t that remind you of something?

"Be careful son, but be free"
You were warned, and yet
higher and higher you flew
closer and closer to Apollo
and your wax wings were melted
with his embrace.

But tell me, Icarus,
was it worth it in the end?
How did it feel
to graze the heavens?
Tell me, dear one,
how did it feel to live violently?
to live carelessly?

"Be careful, son, be free."
You chose to live,
if only in that moment.
Higher and higher you sailed
until your very being insulted Apollo
and with one kiss,
your wings were destroyed.

I burned up in your atmosphere
Just trying to
Get close enough to touch you
Just trying to get
Close enough to hear you say
“Yeah, I love you too”

You do?

I started a book about you
Drenched in ******* sweat
And drunken verses that you would
Never really get unless
You took the time to listen
And hear me

The sizzle and crackle
Of everything about me
Burning

Because of you.

I only know how to
Write about heartbreaks
Or heart beats
And could have beens
Because you taught me that,
You showed me that
It wasn’t poetry until
I destroyed everything about me
That once was
That could’ve been.

I’m good at free falling
And floating
Pretty good at burning
Up for only you.

I wonder if Icarus knew how close to the sun he came before his undoing fell upon him.
Was he so captivated by the beauty of the sun that he could not change his ways?
Trapped by the freedom his wings gave him, like a moth to a flame was he destined to burn?

I wonder if he failed only because his wings were formed from feathers and wax.
Was his freedom formed from illusions and wax?
Would the outcome have been different if his wings were not faux?

I wonder if the sea tried to save him.
Did the waves try to extinguish his flames and cool his melting wax?
Did the ocean ensure his fate by trying to help?

I wonder if it was hubris that was his downfall.
Was it his pride that catalyzed his failure?
Was it simply an account of failed ambitions?

I wonder if it could have been different.
Was he foreordained to fail?
Would the sea have swallowed him had he not flown too close to the sun?

I wonder if he was ever free at all.
Did the sun capture him the second his wings freed him from the ground?
Did Icarus know how close “too close” was?

Water or fire, which shall it be? Burn or
drown, Icarus—please select one. Will the
curiosity carry you to your
grave, or will your father’s words echo through
your mind as you soar through the skies? Oh, boy,
you know the rules; fly too high and your wings
will burn, too low and water will claim them.
Icarus, you are still so young, basking
in the tranquil sea of youth. The words sink
to the depths of the sea and you fall with
them—your wings burn bright. What a sight to see;
a magnificent bright light in the sky!
People look on in awe, as your life is
lost. It seems, Icarus, that neither fire
nor water is worthy of desire.

Sometimes I find
myself
hard-pressed
to separate
dreams from reality,
living deep in the
fantasy world,
I lose myself,
too dark to see,
blinded by the
pitch black,
I try to feel my way out,
but even once I emerge,
you are the light,
and I again
become consumed,
swallowed whole by
the brightness,
you are the light, and it's
impossible to deny
how easy it is
for my soul to vacate
my body and fly to you,
like Icarus flying toward
the sun.

As the light touches her skin,
A fire deep within,
Ablaze to set free, your desires.
And in the light of the moon she lies
Ethereal beauty,
The queen,
On *****, she breathes her fire.
Purifying the soul,
Her eyes burn,
Deep within your whole.
The night she claims her own
A magical spell to weaken you.
You, oh Icarus,
Fly too close to the sun.
And in her arms you lie,
Charmed and bewildered,
Wanting for more.

What if I,
in artless youth,
had never heard that call to life?
Had never gazed upon that beacon
And found a world beyond my own?
I may have loved my ignorant prison,
cherished those gossamer walls of thought,
evaded that thirst for wretched freedom,
and left alone
those dank recesses,
content to slink away
existence upon existence.

Never would I have borne
the timid wings of aspiration---
a sudden quickening:
turning ambition,
turning desire,
turning identity.

Never would I
have kissed the sweet earth goodbye,
embraced the rush of wind and sky and soared
into the enthralling
the intoxicating
the cavernous--
Big Blue.

Ambition unbound!
How did it feel
to free the fatal sun-seared wax and flesh,
and witness plumed Promise plunge
down.
down.
down.
into the gaping sea
perhaps resurfacing on some unknown shore?