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Icarus laughed as he fell;
The golden ichor streaming
From his nose, his mouth,
His spun tresses behind him
Fluttering as angel wings do.

Icarus screamed as he plummeted
to the earth; melted wax
scalding his shoulders where
his wings once were; broken
feathers fluttering in his firey wake.

Apollo mourned as Icarus fell,
not a sound issued from his
doomed lips. His wings, torn
and broken and burned, danced
behind him, more lively than
Icarus would ever be.
I've had this one in my notebook for a while; I just never got around to actually posting it.
if you asked me the moment
icarus felt like tragedy and poetry,
i would laugh and say he knew,
that boys who love suns are already tragedy,
but seas who love boys are poetry,
because love is a double edged sword
and the moment of clarity ends all too soon.
5 octobre 2020
11:34 am.
Alex Sep 2020
Icarus cradled himself as the
Surface roared closer and closer,
Screaming like a siren in his ear

For a brief moment he looked and saw
That tower which had kept him and all
That surrounded it. It used to be ugly
But now with death approaching, all that was
ordinary became too beautiful to bare.
First poem in ages
Cross Boundry Sep 2020
Sometimes people just care too much
and it hurts.
But anyway
We'll try
We'll fly
and we'll fall.
Again
and again.
wings of wax won't hold forever
N Sep 2020
Lover,
I need you to stand still
with your feet in the water

Let me drink your reflection
to quench my thirst as you
try to hide your tender smile

I beg of you,
don't leave me,
because then the sun will burn me,
and the sea will swallow my ashes
Crystal Fang Sep 2020
always at the edge
of taking flight;
not knowing you would fall-
or simply not believing it
my lovely Icarus,
taking to the sky
tell me you'll return
indulge me one more lie
kaehaniya Aug 2020
thought he was doing the right thing too.
8/31/2020
you’ve become nothing
but fire and wax and regrets.
you’ve become a cautionary tale,
a warning of loving too much too fast
you’ve become a memory
in a long list of lovers, of tragedies

you’ve become nothing
but ash and feathers and bone,
you’ve become a story,
a tale of boys who fell for suns
you’ve become a glimpse,
a moment of clarity that ends all too soon
29 août 2020
3:10 pm
N Aug 2020
Would my grave be
deeper than my wounds?

Would the warmth of the morning sun
still reach my rotten body?

Would Icarus, my bird, fly to the sun looking for me
Is my selfish death going to cost him his wings, too?

Would the worms weep when
they ******* tormented flesh?
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