High hopes and dreams used to lie among the clouds.
But they fell like rain,
A burning thunderstorm of wax and feathers.
Success is melted by the envious sun.
Life plunges to the depths,
The small price to pay for freedom.
A not so sweet release,
That leaves guilty wounds,
never to be healed.
And the last feather makes a ripple,
Taking its place in its dark cold grave.
I realize that yours was not the only life taken.
I hang up my wings.
I will never fly again.
Author notes
This poem is inspired by Ovid's telling of the story of Daedalus and Icarus.
Comments
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astounding use of figurative language! im not a fan of similies but yours are to well written to ignore, and the last two lines really capture the reader, this is a poem i will never forget.
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thank you so much! in our latin 3 class, one of the pieces we did was Ovid's telling of Daedalus and Icarus. there was one particular line, translated: "the father, now no longer a father..." it made me cry. it was very inspiring.
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