To Icarus.

'I stand on the edge of myself with my arms outstretched, crucified against the nest of my mind.'

You told me
the only way to know glory
was to fall on it-
like collapsing onto a sword.
Only then, from the skin of your corpse,
a victor crawls out. 

It was warm before it burned, you said.
Before your life sloughed off the bone and dripped like wax. 
It was worth it, you said.
Worth the soar, worth the plummet. 
Worth the pain, worth the punishment. 

So, I stand on the edge of myself
with my arms outstretched,
crucified against the nest of my mind.
I wait for my wings, existing on the brink of things:
the beat before the crescendo,
the curve of the wave’s lip,
the solid ground before thin air.

I do not fear the plunge. 
My flesh is merely a vessel.
You and I both know that
they’ll only pour libations for me
when my blood can fill their cups. 

Gold winks through black water.
It takes one single 
breath,
as fleeting and fatal
as a glint of the sun on a blades edge. 
I step into oblivion,
an offering to the sea,
in exchange to be devoured by the dark
and rise as only words on lips. 

O tell me, 
the one who touched the sun.
When your blistered body 
hit the cold surface,
did it feel like triumph?

ty for reading! this will be part of a poetry series I’m doing— Orpheus is up next! 🪽🎼