The Leap
If some would speak of the fall, others would speak of the leap.
The sun draws near as if pulled by strings
Ones attached to his wings
Close and closer he flies
Her eyes are fierce
Her chest heaving, nostrils seething
‘How dare a mortal dare!’
His wings her teeth pierce
‘Blue shall be your grave’
She curses and sneers
Not in dread but in joy
His heart leaps
And his father weeps
Basked in the sun’s glory,
He does not heed the wax
Lapping at his skin
Only ecstasy and relief
Only one wing remains
Hanging from one shoulder blade
Blades of flame
Slashing, searing, rebirthing
Blades of flame
Were seers of fame
‘His grave would be Blue,
Blue is the grave of the brave.’
To baby birds in their nests,
The sun has grown wings!
To the creatures peeking from their burrows,
The sun has grown wings!
Feathers slip from the clutch of the wind
Blue is to be his grave
In glee, not in pain
He shrieks and for the clouds he reaches
They blow through him a sigh of defeat
Yet he is not truly defeated
The ribs of the ocean open for him
Stabbing, grinding, gobbling
But he is not truly defeated!
If some would speak of the fall
Others would speak of the leap
They would say that when Icarus leapt
The sun had grown wings
They would say the wings were Icarus’
They would say the sun was Icarus
Thank you for reading this poem inspired by the breathtaking artwork above.
