Flight Of Icarus - Blog Posts
I think about his story at least once a week, my Greek mythology hyper fixation is worming itself back into my brain
Icarus has abandoned me:
The cosmos cries comets, the moon bleeds lullabies, and here i am, icarus; i, who can bear the quarrels of fate and time no more. you sought the sun, but did the sun seek you back? does it mourn you, or am i the only one doing that?
Who's stars am i aligning, are they mine? certainly that is what i was told (did you not tell me that, icarus) . those promises that I kept safe so dearly in my pockets, how did they find me? who am i to chase after the remarkable (i thought i could, in the name of you, icarus).
i, who sought icarus, can hear him no more. i am searching. where are you?
it is your time to find me, icarus; search for me. heal me. answer me.
'I can't. It's too risky,' I tell myself, as I back away from the wings that lay in front of me, the ones that I yearn for, hope for. Live for. Those wings.
'I'm so close,' I argue, 'I've always wanted this.' Those wings.
I can imagine Icarus smiling at the stars burning in my eyes.
'Come,' he would say, 'Fly.'
I smile, closing my eyes, keeping those stars going supernova to myself. And I walk away. Those wings.
'I am no Icarus.'
I know the story of Icarus is supposed to be a cautionary tale about the dangers of getting ahead of yourself...
But has anyone thought about whether Icarus intended to fall? What if when he flew high above, out of the awful labyrinth that had entrapped him and his father all this time, he finally felt free in the endless sky with the ocean under him? What if he looked beyond and saw a city on the horizon and while his father flying beside him shouts that it is safe haven, that they have found a place to land, all Icarus could see was another maze, with its walls and paths and crossroads. Only this one seemed to have more people caught in it. What if he looked at it all and refused to be one of them, refused to live the rest of his life in another labyrinth after just escaping one. What if the sun wasn't his doom but the bright burning possibility of freedom.
You must understand, I'm not saying he definitely wanted to fall. But maybe he never wanted to stop flying. Maybe he never wanted to be parted from the sky and sea. Maybe he just wanted to be free.
When the rocks seem miles away and the shore steeping and breathless, the desire to keep falling and falling overcomes the cause, when the sky flew faster than you, all the light was just blinding, never golden and when you lay by the riverbank, scarlet red seeping into clear eyes, scarlet red from where carnations grew, only does your breath turn tragic, turning poetic, when love struck jewels emerge, careful fingers touch the rubies, and this is all the power I have, to only lament words I cannot fathom and trace the fall over and over till only golden ichor flows anew.
Was icarus's fall so terrible after all? He would've died with a smile on his face, the sun all beautiful on him, setting him ablaze. Golden boy alight in his fall, golden are our kisses which set me ablaze and my wings burn in all their glory as you sweep my ashes 'neath the rug. The wax stuck to my lashes doesn't seem to scald your skin as much as I'd hoped and it seems fair to give it all up, for just a fleeting moment of your rays spreading across my skin, painting my lips, as if all the gold would hide the red underneath. Icarus must've surely died with a smile on his face, for I know I did in your smoldering embrace.
