the Icarus Syndrome
Icarus, my brother
has never met Ra
before
it was not a
reachable vestige
of his memory
so . . .
he vied
he tried
and he died
so they say
waxed wings melting
smelting in the light
of the Sun
the Son
or the Father
our own wing’s compositions
does give way
and begin to fray
at the edges
when the fledging
ones
amongst us
trust in the
variables
we do not understand
blind faith is it
let us visit
this convincible
principle
that we are
invincible
as we see our selves
who was it that looked
in that mirror
and saw a monster
was it Sleeping
Beauty’s step mother
who stepped in other
worlds
of make believe
only to assist in the
conceiving
of her demise
all because of what
she thought she saw
with her eyes
in our driven-ness
our self praised erections
the detections of
truth evades us
i trust
or should i just
not trust at all
remember how Icarus
did fall
suddenly i would
think
having to drink
his own cup of pride
for on the other side
he could not hide
from his vanity
insanity . . .
perhaps
but my chaps
this what it is
the Icarus syndrome
no room for drones
© 0 November 2012 :
william s. peters, sr.
my Newest Book . . .
“The Vine Keeper . .
. messages in Poetry and Prose”
is available at
the Icarus Syndrome
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