Daedalus

I, who now sit alone by this barren shore Looking vainly out to sea as if I thought I could espy distant Crete, Have become a source of ridicule Among these lesser men, Who strut and title themselves architects And brag of the hovels they erect and call palaces, Built for the king of a land that knows no better, But, ignorant of Geometry and of Number, Are merely charlatans and young fools, While I (an old fool) sit here unused and rusting. I, who built the dread Labyrinth by command of Minos, Where he imprisoned the monstrous Minotaur And every ninth year sent seven girls and seven boys, Tribute from a defeated Athens, To their deaths in its dark depths To be devoured by that mindless thing. But when Ariadne asked for my help To save her lover Theseus from that fate, Foolishly I gave it, And Minos turned his rage on me, Imprisoning me and my son inside that very prison. In my arrogance, I devised a plan To escape from that which was inescapable. And this I did, but still was trapped by the sea And by Minos’ black ships that roamed it. From wax and the feathers of seabirds And by my knowledge and craft I devised wings, And we soared into the cloud-flected sky, Away from that island prison and free. For hours we flew on our wings over the dark sea. I took care not to fly too low, Else the sea spray dampen the wings and make them heavy, Nor to fly too close to Phoebus In his daily journey across the sky, Less the wax melt. But my son forgot my warnings, (Or perhaps I forgot to warn him; I can’t remember now), And he flew too high and the wax melted And he fell and the sea swallowed him. I flew on then, alone, Until I reached this primitive land Far from Minos’ reach. I burnt the wings, And kept my name and my knowledge Hidden from the people of this land. And so I sit here idle, While above me the birds fly Where, once, I flew, And gaze out to the sea Where Icarus lies.