letters to the moon [poetry]

icarus

he is a god of diseases,
infecting mortal hearts
in such a way they become addicted
to the everlasting toxicity of his words,
spitting out hushed affections
as if to instil the belief
mortal life might ever become enough
to surmount up to what he needs in his wake, 
even still they,
one by one,
submit to one sided love
and yet you find yourself
amongst the masses
even still with an offering in hand.

you have taken to watching him
frantically and in a rage
recite poetry with a sharp tongue
and a heart burning festering gold
all for the sake of keeping at bay
traitorous souls;
those who wish to pick apart
this sacred poetry
that reverberates against the walls
of an empty place of worship
just for tales of tragedies to gawk at

it's when you pull that shaking god
in a firm hug
that he finds a calm of ocean breeze,
a chill to keep him from melting
like candle wax

it takes a vile of ink
and a stray raven feather
to put the painted tip to paper,
compose stories of your affections
to add to the growing pile
of unexpressed love;
a piece of him
with all of aphrodite's curse
overwhelming your senses as if
to bypass consciousness
to seep into your thoughts late at night.
those letters will ever see the moon.

you have fallen, oh god, you have fallen.

but its the way he watches your plummet
that drives the point home all the more,
even from knowing at the beginning
his heart was tucked away in his home
that muscle hardly pulsating in response
to prettied up words
and mentions of adoration from others
which were only brushed away
by a wave of his hand.
you knew then and there
that you were his icarus,
doomed to go down in history
as the first and only human
to love a god to death.

how many nights did you ponder
how the fall would feel,
how many times did you question
if your love was unrequited?

too many to count;
but your feelings
were never the epitome of regret.