I wonder if Icarus
That he’d really,
well, and truly,
Did he panic when the sun’s relentless rays
whipped liquid lashes of molten wax
Across his cracked and naked back?
Or was that drowned in the cascade
of adrenalin-pumped sweat
As cyclones of raw air
spun down every corridor
of his breathless, weightless being,
propelling him forward,
Waltzing with Fate,
And wishing to be nowhere else?
Did he start to scream in horror
As his woven feathers betrayed him,
And his heart leapt into his mouth,
Plummeting in a nose dive
Towards the tiny chalk-dust town
He’d spent a lifetime plotting to escape?
I like to think he spiralled down
Wingless and wide-eyed,
Cracked lips blaring a boundless smile,
Having carved his name onto the unflinching face
Of Mount Olympus.
Grateful to have grazed the sun,
Ready to return Home
A comet from the heavens,
Departing his final orbit,
Shining even in the daylight
For the dreamers below
Who dared look above.