I maintain
to this day
that Icarus knew exactly what he was doing.
Blinded his eyes on the love of the sun,
got closer to warm the chill from his bones.
It is not for us
to call him foolish,
brand him a silly child
merely eager to cheat the gods.
If you are to label him thus,
look again at his roots,
forced through the concrete of a prison cell.
Look at his father,
warning him, yes, of the sun,
but also of the sea below.
Flames burn
but sea salt stings.
Imagine a child
stripped of a childhood
given a choice between a warmth never known
and the familiar ice of waves below.
Call him foolish again
for the decision he made.
I dare you.
I suppose one thing is up to us,
the casual readers of a flame
snuffed short.
Would you rather...
sail a straight line to safety,
fade into the pages of a history book -
or feel the wax searing your skin
feel the waves beckoning down
know that you will be forever entombed
in the memory of your decision?
I maintain
to this day
that Icarus knew exactly what he wanted.
