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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I often pause to question the tale: What if his ambition was to fail? I have wondered how the story turns, And what the modern world from Icarus learns. If Icarus had flown too low, To drown beneath the undertow; We wouldn't call him Dreamer, bright and bold, Just a pathetic failure, sharp and cold. He'd be the villain of a reckless flight, A fool who chose the endless night. I know this judgment, and now I agree, Because that alternative Icarus is me. I chose the ocean's massive size, And due to this, I drowned in lies. I flew too close, too lost in commotion, Drowning in the sheer, wrong misery of the ocean. Not living myself, not truly free, I let the water overpower me. I sank. Not in a blaze, but in a shameful quiet, The wings, someone else's, had started to riot. They dissolved like mist, the frame was failing, Feathers around me, darkness prevailing. I hit the floor. I knew my end. But broken things can always mend. One day I am gonna grow wings. And forget the pain that sorrow brings. Wings of my own forging, made from the core, I will leave this cold, dark ocean floor. I will choose the fire, though it brings the end, For the sun's high grace, I will gladly contend. I will burn just to show I can. To finally test my new wingspan. I trade the coldness of the crushing depth, For the last, bright gasp of my burning breath.
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