icarus, i believe
is heavily overwritten
especially by me

but golden eyes
and golden wings
never melt
from the mind
of a poet;

it's our apollos
that drive our pens
to begin with

I'm an Icarus in the sky
Leave me to fall
I know what I've done
I flew too close
But it had called my name
Chanted it
Sung it, like a song
And I knew I had to
I knew its rays would burn the flesh of my body
But I'll bathe in them
For the only thing I want to feel when I die
Is the warmth of the sun
Against my skin.

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.

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

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)

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?

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.