"daedalus" poems
Our old uncle, Daedalus,
he'd grin when he spoke to us
His mouth was missing teeth
and so his wisdom flowed out free
He always smelled of cheap cigars
alleyways and corner bars
He'd tell us he had seen the world
and this was his decree:
"Don't fly too high, you little *****
You just might live to pay for it.
The Sun is always hot,
the ground gets harder every day."
"But, Daedalus," we would complain,
"You are old and we would fain
see the sights you saw before
we sleep beneath the clay."
And dear old Uncle Daedalus
he'd laugh and spit and swear at us
"You ******* little ***** had better
heed the tale I tell.
This life is one big ******* maze
with twists and turns and tricks to play.
The kings control the monsters,
who make Earth a living Hell."
We'd try to listen, try to thank
him for the words, but his breath stank
and, anyway, we thought that he
had prob'ly **** himself
But dear old Uncle Daedalus
hung Death from lips that spoke to us
and ****** if he weren't right
about the things he always said:
"Inventiveness works, by and by
with daring, you may taunt the sky
like I did
but the fall is long--
my dreams and son are dead."
He always smelled of cheap cigars
alleyways and corner bars
"You ******* little ***** had better
heed the tale I tell..."
"Don't fly too high, you little *****
You just might live to pay for it.
The kings control the monsters,
who make Earth a living Hell."
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 6:10 PM UTC
Mine
6:48 a Wednesday
Two Weeks later
Then: Thanksgiving eve
5E; MIT
I sit at my desk:
stare out of the windows <
My skull
at the Chocolate Bock I just
Overflowed > all over my notes
on the Circe episode of Ulysses,
which I have not yet read.
20 minutes after I just ––
Went alone. Stood there, yes, alone
Above the porcelain enterprise
Taking that litmus test of humanity
Clear, I pass. Yellow, I fail.
It was rather clear I think
Honestly? I don't remember.
Two weeks ago, I stood there==
and came up with this phrase.
Standing there with special eyes::::
Seeing.
Came back to my room, I did, faithfully
Looked there below my second fridge
A plate sat. mine. On it: maybe food, maybe *****
Probably marijuana
Only the first my own
Who remembers?
Next to it: an empty prescription bottle
"It's some medicine for Asthma. I don't even
_have_ asthma!"
"Classy **** I am; I've never bought a shot glass.
Just use discarded prescription bottles."
An experiment @ the sink: exact: 2.0z. On the dot.
Turns out that's 1&1/3 of the standard—The ritual
We make it. And have made it.
For years now together after midnight
[or so]
4 years. Soon it will be
Maybe I shall leave; probably not
but harken back, that fortnight, less 6
To that evening. Orange and purple
Effort sublime but not enough:
Lost to a team of Freshman.?!
~If only:~
"Tripped mad-laundry shrooms",
6 and a half months ago
Two men sit in the corner of my room
I know one; the other spoke
2-weeks-later: sticky keyboard
I am not sober, but who is?
Last night. Remember those videos?
reminded me that *** can be beautiful:
After basically 2 years: I almost forgot.
x-art.com. December 6, 2011
I have a perspective now:
It is not the same as yours
it is not and, by necessity,
can not be the same.
But I see it. Stephen Daedalus
calls it immature—lyrical
but **** you, James: it is mine!
I am. Will always be.
Will have never been.
But, God/Goddess **** it now!
I am: I See.
I try!
~D.B.Guy
Nov 3, 2012
Nov 3, 2012 at 3:23 AM UTC
Oh, Icarus
Primary example of the human folly.
The wings and feathers destroyed by the heat of a sun you thought you could bear.
Oh, Icarus
You are a foolish one.
Excessive ambition never makes it to see the light of day.
You had too much hope in yourself.
Your pride took you away.
Oh, Icarus
The words of Daedalus fell upon death ears.
Failure to heed to a warning was your demise.
Oh, Icarus
Wings so mighty and beautiful.
What I would do to fly so high.
To soar above the clouds and meet the beautiful rays.
Oh, Icarus
Fly back to the sun.
Melt your wax and ruin your feathers, once more.
Oh, Icarus
We need someone brave enough to fly close to the sun.
Plummet into the ocean again after , if you must.
Every human here is lily-livered.
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 12:40 AM UTC
I am nature
I am open and wild and free
I am the wind rushing down canyons and the hollering in banyans
I am a bird that sings
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things
I am civilization.
The trapped, fluorescent lighting in a library basement.
The cake walks and small talks and forced conversation.
I am the beeps and hums and dirt on bums.
I’m the faraway cell phone that rings.
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things.
I am exuberance
A child giggling loud sounds of joy
Puzzle completers and Christmas toys
Smiles and laughs and leaves of grass
The casino machine that dings
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things
I am anger.
Tears, scares, and not fighting fair.
I am the red in your eyes as you cry.
I am a ghoul that comes out in the night.
I am the cut that won’t cease to sting.
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things.
I am ideas
Originality through and through
Creations of my own evolve in my mind
Great sinewy thoughts searching for actions to bind
Mister Cleans and Daedalus wings
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things
I am silence.
Quiet. Tight. Composure.
Open. Weary. Closure.
I am the stillness of being.
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things.*
I am alive
I set Rube Goldberg machines into action
I contemplate, gravitate, and try not to hate
I breathe and I heave and I believe
I use my eyes to see
I am molecules upon cells upon bones against things
I am dead.
I’m a sideshow reflection of the man I could be.
I am lazy cold and clammy.
Hopefully I can get my heart beating again.
Then I could be me, molecules upon cells upon bones against things
Mar 20, 2012
Mar 20, 2012 at 12:05 AM UTC
I was once confined in colossal walls
Each corner and path lead to the unknown
Thought of escaping by flying above this cage
On a contraption Daedalus called his own
I saw the end of the labyrinth
The sweet smell of liberation filled the air
I saw another thing-- much brighter, more captivating
To ignore the beauty of Sol, I wouldn't even dare
I knew reaching the sun was pure insanity
I knew I wasn't supposed to go near it
But what was stopping me?
What could get in the way between you and me?
All my efforts flying up were completely wasted
It didn't even take a while to realize
How the wings made of wax quickly melted
Down I go in utter surprise
I used to think that only animals are kept inside cages
Now I know why hearts are confined in them, too
To keep us from listening to the temptations of its sinful desires
Before we realize it all too soon
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 1:33 PM UTC
There, high aloft the flaming sky
Ablaze with the sun's intense heat
A boy, calmly, gaily did fly
The world a globe beneath his feet
The sky an eye of molten blue
The fields green blooming in gold
Of wheat and grains, the ploughman drew
Whilst calm ocean waves did unfold
And crashed against the mighty shore
Studded with rocks, and moist and cool
Where sat upon the golden floor
The fisherman near the dull pool
Trying throughout the weary day
Catch any fish, a meal to serve
His cursed stomach which growled fray
And twined in locks each of his nerve
And on that pool, a fearsome ship
With azure flags, a dreary mast
Most quietly, quickly did skip
The tremulous ocean waves, past
Stealing the food the fisherman
Yearned to catch but never did he
And Icarus flew higher than
His father had told him to be
Out of his thrill, his bliss, his joy
He tried to claim the sun, the skies
Only his tries made him the boy
To fall into his dark demise
And as he rose, he rose most high
He lost his wings, like bright the oars
Once pedaling throughout the sky
Melted away, he lost his course
And suddenly his feathers flew
Like pollen in the midst of spring
And down into the profound blue
He went on fast and tumbling
His cries for pleas were never heard
Ne'er spoken from his withered throat
And down just like an injured bird
He tumbled and drowned near the boat
What marvelous a sight as seen
A boy tumbling from out the sky
Ne'er the ploughman plowing the green
Did see him, he was left to die
Tumbling further beneath the brine
As Daedalus flew high around
“O, gods, where is the son of mine,
There is no sign, there is no sound
Of his warm breath, his lively beat
That chimed away in gaiety
Where did he go, did his end meet
O, what have you have done to me!”
And so he flew around, away
Fisher saw nix, the boat passed by
And life continued day by day
As Icarus was left to die
Sep 22, 2013
Sep 22, 2013 at 6:32 PM UTC
Son of Daedalus,
foolish young boy,
flying through the august sunset background
and tasting the damp clouds viewed with splendor,
Son of Daedalus,
arrogant dreamer,
did you smile to the sun,
before your feather bound wings burst into flames,
Son of Daedalus,
poor boy,
did your soul rise from those flames like a phoenix
with your tiny lungs so filled with salty waters,
did you take one last laugh to the end,
Here lies a boy,
the son of Daedalus,
immortal in memory to the Icarian Sea.
Jul 18, 2012
Jul 18, 2012 at 1:00 PM UTC
Woman birthed. Woman raised.
I am no biproduct
donating ***** does not make one a factor
back strained, she supported me like Atlas
sheltered me with wingspan like Daedalus
her love stronger than the Greek gods
Aphrodite was her apprentice
agape her creation
her love for me surpassed my love of self
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 8:27 PM UTC
King Minos,
Spited by the God of Oceans,
Hesitated but a while
Before poor Pasiphae's bull-headed son
Was penned inside the labyrinth,
And then, as if to throw away the key,
Inventor Daedalus and his dear son
Were for their work a prison tower fee'd.
But they grew wings, for as we know,
An inventor's work is never done...
If only Icarus had listened
And kept a proper place below the sun,
Breugel's painting would have lost
Its distant splashy focal point;
The plowman and the shepherd would
Have stood alone above a perfect sea.
Old Minos never had a chance,
And though the cunning Hunter,
(He, who found the man who
Made a string crawl curving
Through a shell behind an ant),
Had won... decided to disrobe
And take a dip...a foolish act
To choose when Daedalus
Would serve a hot revenge.
Daedalus, who knew the score,
Burned wood to make the water soar;
In vengeance vented spiteful wrath,
And cooked old Minos in his bath.
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
Seven years I lived my life, fading from reality. Crossing into machinery. Robotics with which I am so unfamiliar. Machined, greased, lubricated parts. Built with a purpose. A meaningless purpose. Destined for failure.
A broken down machine I stand. Sit. Lay. Run. Work. Play. Slide. Cursed and wretched as the demons which haunt the dreams of the fallen. I rise above. Skyrocketing through reason. Through the seventh layer of Heaven and Hell. On a false sense of cloud nine I currently float…awaiting the plummet.
Its falling away from me. I sail through a shattered sea of broken glass. I closed my eyes and the tears could not flow. Blocked by my eyelids, restricting emotion. After all of this, I am amazed. The wall could be broken. Forgotten faded memories of which I have no say.
Of past. Of present. Of gifts. Of futures. Of lists. Lists of black. Hit lists in my head. I live in my head. I am not what I wish. I am what I’m not. I am what I dream. A scream. A cry. Laying here, blank as the page on which I cannot create a scene. A scene behind my eyes, yet I cannot attain it on paper. These words flow meaninglessly, but not slow.
Daedalus, Icarus, Thrice. Three times I roam. Randomized plains of thought, laid out on a digital page. Keys, not a pen. Ones and Zeros, not ink. Screens, not pages. Neat, not sloppy…yet my words do not understand one another… nor do I….
If we make the mainland, this song would not be made. Epic beauty, formed through misfortune and tragedy. Oh son…I beg you…keep a steady wing. For you are the only one who means anything to me. My wings are made of melting, shredding, fading elements. The sun, heating, lighting, someday dying. I understand that nothing is as it may seem. Nor is any seam as true as the seamstress believed. The Gods did not take the only thing which meant anything to you, father of legend. Your son is not dead…only afire. Acquired by the forces you believed to be merciful.
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 9:22 PM UTC
High above the Canyon’s edge,
Far above the ancient clay,
The helicopter hovers there
Like a dragonfly at play.
With my jet pack on my back
I coolly, calmly step away.
Gain separation from the blades,
Freefall starts my epic day.
On stubby wings the jet packs fire
I’m Daedalus in the morning light.
I soar across the canyon’s rim.
Laughing like some hell born sprite
One hundred eighty miles an hour,
The wind whips cold despite the sun
I glide toward my landing zone
The jet packs sputter and are done.
My parachute has been deployed
My guide ropes turn me for my drop.
My wings are just a dead weight now
I touch down one the Mesa top.
At Kitty Hawk that fateful day.
This must be what the brothers felt
Kindred souls who sought to fly
By using wings that wouldn’t melt..
Jan 4, 2012
Jan 4, 2012 at 10:43 PM UTC
This is Icarus drowning:
wings once held up
now weight,
burdened toward
the bottom of the sea.
A father stands
alone
on destined shores,
words of warning
having left lips
now echoed empty
against the current.
And the sun
is evil only in apathy
if not in deed
smiling still
upon us all.
This is Icarus drowning:
hopes once held up
now weight,
burdened downward
toward that eager end.
Daedalus stands alone
at a funeral,
silent on distant shores,
with only the
current's whisper
as a eulogy.
The sorrow
of a world
is none to a father
lost of a son.
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 1:33 AM UTC
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
Mar 9, 2016
Mar 9, 2016 at 11:02 PM UTC
Flying
is not some motion
caused by wings
or a propeller of sorts //
But rather a freedom
that comes with the absence of weight
And today
I soar.
Dec 3, 2011
Dec 3, 2011 at 9:27 PM UTC
The moon, a sweeping scimitar, dipped in the stormy straits,
The dawn, a crimson cataract, burst through the eastern gates,
The cliffs were robed in scarlet, the sands were cinnabar,
Where first two men spread wings for flight and dared the hawk afar.
There stands the cunning workman, the crafty past all praise,
The man who chained the Minotaur, the man who built the Maze.
His young son is beside him and the boy's face is a light,
A light of dawn and wonder and of valor infinite.
Their great vans beat the cloven air, like eagles they mount up,
Motes in the wine of morning, specks in a crystal cup,
And lest his wings should melt apace old Daedalus flies low,
But Icarus beats up, beats up, he goes where lightnings go.
He cares no more for warnings, he rushes through the sky,
Braving the crags of ether, daring the gods on high,
Black 'gainst the crimson sunset, golden o'er cloudy snows,
With all Adventure in his heart the first winged man arose.
Dropping gold, dropping gold, where the mists of morning rolled,
On he kept his way undaunted, though his breaths were stabs of cold,
Through the mystery of dawning that no mortal may behold.
Now he shouts, now he sings in the rapture of his wings,
And his great heart burns intenser with the strength of his desire,
As he circles like a swallow, wheeling, flaming, gyre on gyre.
Gazing straight at the sun, half his pilgrimage is done,
And he staggers for a moment, hurries on, reels backward, swerves
In a rain of scattered feathers as he falls in broken curves.
Icarus, Icarus, though the end is piteous,
Yet forever, yea, forever we shall see thee rising thus,
See the first supernal glory, not the ruin hideous.
You were Man, you who ran farther than our eyes can scan,
Man absurd, gigantic, eager for impossible Romance,
Overthrowing all Hell's legions with one warped and broken lance.
On the highest steeps of Space he will have his dwelling-place,
In those far, terrific regions where the cold comes down like Death
Gleams the red glint of his pinions, smokes the vapor of his breath.
Floating downward, very clear, still the echoes reach the ear
Of a little tune he whistles and a little song he sings,
Mounting, mounting still, triumphant, on his torn and broken wings!
2.4k
The first time i saw you, your stare lingered beneath
My mind went blank, it's as if i was recovered from the river Lethe
Eros and Ananke took the longest time on fashioning you
Apollo would befriend you because in my mind, you are the greatest view
To gain your love, i am willing to carry the world like Atlas
If you ask me, i will suffer the pits of Tatarus and come back to be your lass
I wouldn't mind staying with you in the island of Calypso
To be with you, i would face Charybdis and jump inside her tornado
Everytime you smile, it's as if the gates of Olympus open just for me
Your face will launch a thousand ships and i won't mind bringing my army
If i have no chance, my grief would reach the river Cocytus
And my heart would wander in the labyrinth of Daedalus
In the most confusing maze, you are my Ariadne string
You are the melody of the three muses when they sing
To get to your love how i wish i could be the goddess, Aphrodite
And maybe you can be Odysseus and i will be Penelope
With my kind of desire for you, Artemis and her hunters would never approve
If i am not for you, i would persuade Aphrodite and deny Cupid's reprove
Like Zeus and his lightning bolt, i can never leave your side
Poseidon's angry seas would compare to my feelings which will take long to subside
For your honor, i will fight like Hector of Troy
But like the giant, Typhon, someone will always destroy
Like Paris and Helen, we were doomed from the start
You are Cassandra and I, Apollo so you will never give me your heart
I am not Aphrodite, not Hestia, Helen and Hera
You can compare me to Circe, The Fates or even Medusa
Not as important as Hercules, Odysseus and Achilles
I might as well have a tea party with Achlys
No ship will be launched for my sake
In the garden of Hesperides, i am ignored even by a snake
In Olympus, you feast with the twelve goddesses and gods
Together with Hephaestus who was shunned, i share his odds.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 2:30 AM UTC
you asked me if i
thought it hurt when
icarus threw himself into the
sun
i didn't have the heart to
tell you how the story ended
how he woke up in a burn
ward
how he flipped a coin
heads or tails and when
it came up daedalus was still
dead
you can romanticize it all you
want but we all know who's
who in this metaphor and how
sweet
it will feel when you incinerate
me i promise when i wake up
wherever that is i'll still write you
psalms
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 10:46 AM UTC
Sunday 5:47 p.m.
Opine - usually ends up more
Laborious than
Arborous.
Sunday 11:14 p.m.
I know your peripheral view
Is better than
Not saying hello,
Until I'm far enough away
To hear only the timber and not the tongue.
Thursday 1:12 a.m.
Who is Echo
And who is Narcissus
When their names are the same?
Tomorrow,
I'll cough up blood.
Disavow something. Anything.
Just for kicks.
Dec 2, 2013
Dec 2, 2013 at 12:25 AM UTC
Down, down and down he goes
To rich navy troughs and cerulean hues
His winged arms flailing to the skies
Wishing for his father's watchful eyes
The sobs of Daedalus are silenced by the sea,
And his tears are drowned in the waves
Icarus has fallen! Icarus has fallen to his death!
Oh how the seagulls squawked with mirth!
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 1:10 AM UTC
hands raised to the sky as he runs,
young and wild, curious, carefree;
sunlight bleeds through his fingers
not enough,
he wants to touch the sun.
you mustn't get too close, Daedalus warns him
and then Apollo smiles;
it feels like soaring,
being on the receiving end of
something so bright.
full of youth, seduction is easy
i think your mouth would taste like summer
he surrenders
slave to a burning star
forgive me, father
when he flies,
the taste of freedom
is sweet and heavy on his tongue
but you're not really free
sunbeams envelope him
his skin is golden; Apollo's touch is fire
he's never felt so warm
loved
i could destroy you
he's always been reckless
you won't
throws himself into the flames with abandon
it burns; it's violent; it consumes him
this isn't love
defiant, he smiles even as he screams
it's love to me
Apollo watches as he plummets
falling, falling, collapsing, wings singed and broken
gods shouldn't feel this helpless
it was love to me too
the slap of skin,
the crunch of bones breaking in the waves.
nothing could convince him to keep looking
as Daedalus screams
and holds his fallen son
gods bleed ichor,
gold like Apollo's light;
Apollo has eyes like a clear blue sea,
that's what Icarus once told him;
now Icarus paints the ocean,
bleeds scarlet into Poseidon's waters
and the sun god watches.
how fitting that you'd taint the ocean like you tainted me
Apollo's eyes are red from crying
was it worth it?
in the afterlife, he wears scars
where he used to wear wings
i'd fall a thousand times over just to kiss your lips
immortal now, his soul is sun-stroked
they'll write odes to you,
the boy who flew too close to the sun
even in death, his spirit is bright with innocent joy
he laughs
it sounds like Cupid's lyre
let them, he beams. at least i flew.
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 10:58 PM UTC
Electricity runs in my blood,
Painting the trees a more vibrant green,
Than the unburning eye can see.
The taste of the air.
The burn of ice in my lungs.
The charge under my skin.
The world moves in slow motion,
But my heart beats fast in my chest,
And I feel warmth run to my upper lip.
The red is startling,
Sends my mind into fright,
But I soon relish in the feeling.
Seemingly alive for the first time.
Seemingly dying.
The feeling of birth and death as one.
The feeling of life and decay as one.
The feeling of adrenaline and sleep.
My hands are shaking.
My hands are shaking.
I got blood on my sleeve.
I want it in my mouth.
I put the fabric in between my teeth
And ****
But I can taste no copper.
I am trembling,
The chalk lodged in my throat.
I am flying high,
So high.
And know it will pass.
I am Icarus flying by the sun
I am Daedalus, ashamed of his failure
My fingers do not craft wings,
But words.
Endless, nonsense words
That my mind deems sensible.
But I am Newton.
But all things must fall,
And gravity has it’s hold of me.
It never brings me down gently.
All things must fall.
Even stars must fall.
Even stars.
Even angels.
Even lovers.
I love it,
love.
I love love.
I love to love.
I hate to lose.
I miss it.
I miss loving.
I miss falling.
I miss the natural drop.
This is artificial,
Electricity holding my wings aloft.
The wind whispers no poetry.
This is not beautiful.
This is not harps and angels.
This is not making love in the hay fields.
This is not a dive off of a cliff.
This is the bass in my ears.
The whispered hush in my head.
The shaking of my desperate legs.
And I hear the beat drop.
All things must fall.
All things must fall.
Even girls must fall.
Even boys must fall.
Even the place between must drop to it’s knees and beg.
See me.
See me.
Watch me as I burn myself to the ground.
Watch me hit the ground.
All things must fall.
Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 3:04 PM UTC
When his mother was dying we each said goodbye
I was moved to tears.
The funeral came and though I tried to remain stoic, English, I cried.
Then he died, pulled under by umbilical cords, tied by my bloodied hands.
When the service came I cried then too.
My parents told me not to cry, as though it was an admission of guilt.
Still I wept through the service, as though their sternly worded advice meant nothing.
I sat and felt several tides of sorrow wash over me.
I tried to clench my bowels when it came. Through the first I stayed strong, forcing the emotion down.
The second wave made my eyes water; and whilst a stray tear dribbled off my chin I remained strong, forcing the emotion back down my swollen throat to maintain composure.
The third wave came, and though I kicked and struggled to keep my head above the guilty waves I sank below
My weeping, scabbed face betrayed the guilt of a murderer and finally I let go
Allowing the full horror of what had transpired to engulf me.
I drowned, my face covered by my ***** jacket.
The priest offered for us to share a final moment with the victim before he was burnt to ashes
And I, like the guilty party sat stock still, paralysed by the truth; that I, at that young age, had killed
And whilst I swore that I would never **** again
I collapsed adrift on a bitter sea of tears,
Howling at the injustice that I had wrought.
Later, when composure had been regained I felt a stirring in those clenched bowels.
I sat down on the porcelain throne and proceeded to **** out a large and meaty ****
I strained, my eyes watered, and my **** tipped to the edge of prolapse.
Comforted, I wiped and then felt nothing.
With humility I knew, that I was not noble Simon Daedalus but lowly Leopold Bloom.
The same avenues corporeal brinkmanship that led me to that sad place
Had led me to safety.
It was at first a sad realisation
But I’m happier now.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 6:00 AM UTC
I don't want to be
a heartbroken Daedalus.
Let me have those wings
so I could be
the one to burn
carefree
into the sun
selfish, ignorant, oblivious.
Not grieving and delirious.
Incinerate this youth,
this dream to the root;
an instant ball of flames,
so but memory remains.
* * *
Cut my wings before I'm high
Are you my Daedalus?
We're not mature enough to fly.
I'm not your Icarus.
I'd rather be the liver
of Prometheus,
not himself who did deliver
hope to those oblivious,
misusing now his fire...
* * *
I'd rather be the liver of Prometheus
than live in this illusion of deliverance
The more you know, the more you're faced with ignorance;
and ignorance defeats you with experience
I'd rather be the wings of Icarus
and know the smell of burning feathers
than have a tomb stone like the one of Sisyphus,
no longer strong to push it from the nether
Jun 23, 2017
Jun 23, 2017 at 4:08 AM UTC