Icarus, me!: A poem 

I could feel the wind of summer sky 

burn me like a fire. And I was burning 

with hope, touching clouds of aspirations 

A brown earth of perseverance 

lay below me; these fields I toiled in 

And the wingspread told me: I was born 

for greater things. Great people may not find 

mention in print, in tabloids, on television screens 

But they take flight in prisons and cloistered circumstance 

I can pick out the examples, and self-illustrate 

the icons hidden in my soul. This vapour of oblivion 

and nonentity, is steam in the realms of paradise. 

So, I flew. So, I touched the sky. So, I fell. 

Only to resolve to fly again 

whence no evil could melt my wax