Icarus
As Icarus
plunged down into the sea,
did he look back and curse himself foolish?
Did he shut his eyes closed
and plead to the gods?
Did the feral tides crush him complete,
leaving no mercy?
As the sun
burnt his wings away,
did the wax melt and scorch the skin of his back,
staining crimson scars and purple bruises
along the pale flesh of his shoulder blades?
Did the tail of his feathers
descend like snowflakes of a storm—
turbulent and wild?
Or, did they fall off
like the petals of a flower?
Did the icy water
glisten underneath him,
soothing waves
embracing him whole
despite his audacity?
Did he will his eyes open
even as tears choked at the base of his throat—
anxiety and panic and thrill
setting his every nerve on fire?
Did he reach out at that beautiful, terrifying radiance
That is the sun
and smile sadly,
regretting nothing,
only wishing,
if only I had soared for longer?
(For I am scared.
I’ve heard it and read it and felt it
over and over again.
Explained in different words and
different phrases and
sayings and
songs and
stories;
they’re all the same meaning.
A hundred times and more
I’ve repeated and reminded it to myself .
Yet, this soul of mine,
which passion consumes,
continues to be selfish.
I can determine anything,
but my own
downfall.)