Icarus
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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