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.)