"How do we know who we are?" muttered the man, looking up towards the heavens."There must be a reason for all of this. A reason for the bloodshed and indecency." And onward the stars twinkled as the universe blinked at the very concept.
The nebulas in the distance, lifetimes away swirling the same they had hundreds of years before, The moon's watchful eye riddled with cataclysms that scared its very surface. No response was given to the man except the emanating vastness that the universe offered as its one and only breath.
None of this was planned, the expansion, and the development a mere resultant of the parameters that we were given. The universe, and thus us ourselves have no plan, but to act our part in this progressively more complex place we call the universe.
The man looked back on the cities that were burning and screams that filled the streets and knew that there was not a plan but one he could architect in his own scope. Entwining himself into the very fabric of the world around him he lodged himself into the tapestry of time. He became part of the judgemental push towards a vision of the world and the universe that is not his own but a combination of those before him, and when you fall upon your open hand remember to be ready to brunt the force and stand again. It may not have been part of the script, but it may be crucial in the building of our own plan for the limited life we have been granted.
-Sincerly, Icarus
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Icarus, The Fallen
PoetryAnthology - After falling from grace these stories show the struggles and turmoil that face Icarus in his own mind, warping and distorting to his newfound wounds.
