Escape by flight.
Looking at his father below with pride.
“Look Papa, I’m next to the sun”
Not noticing the hot globs of wax that fall
from the soft speckled goose feathers.
Each droplet melting in the hot Greek sun.
His father, “Come down child, lest you fall and die.”
The son smiles and shakes his head
and flaps his wings, just a bit closer.
Icarus pinned against the brilliant azure sky
like a giant bird.
6 foot wingspan.
Below him rolling hills and vineyards
beside him fluffy clouds.
His father below is engulfed in thoughts of machines
and his other contraptions.
Icarus with the heavens in sight.
A single feather falls.
As if plucked by a giant hand.
And then more and more.
Until he has nothing left.
Reaching with one hand.
Grasping at the air.
A grimace on his face.
As he remembers what his father told him so many times.
That what goes up, must come down.
Sorry I haven't posted in so long. I've been very busy. Please comment and enjoy.
More poems soon.