The stone walls
The rough stone floors littered with hay.
The rats scurried among the foramen
Those sleepless nights
As we lay on the ground,
The cold air seeping through the cracks in the walls.
In the morn',
I sat against the wall
Carving wood pieces for the structure
Of the wings.
My father toiled with the hot wax,
Connecting the joints of the wings.
His hands were immune to the burn.
Finally,
Affixed with wings
Of wood and feathers
And wax,
We leapt from our cliffside prison
And we were carried by the breeze.
The cold was left behind.
The warmth was up ahead
And above.
Warmer.
Icarus, do not go near the sun!
Warmer.
Icarus, the wings will melt!
Warmer still. The old man did not know how good it felt.
Icarus! The wings are melting! Noooo!
Cooler.
Cooler.
Cold, once more.
Thrashing amongst the waves.
The silhouette of my father alongside the sun.
The waves overcame me
And the feathers dispersed.
YOU ARE READING
Life Evaluations
PoetryI do not usually write much poetry. When I do, I'll post it here. Thank you for your support and for reading. It means a lot to me :D
