PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

(the tragic tale of Icarus's wretched wax wings, and the victorious voyages of a determined darkhorse)



...Keeping my feet on the floor and my cranium in the clouds, but cautiously not letting my ego go straight to my head way up high,

The melting point of imagination can be devastatingly discovered while sinning too close to the scorching sun in the satanic sky...



The scent of burning wax is smelt in the air,

The sound of sweet salvation is heard in the sky.

Redemption appears to be beyond rescue and repair,

The blind forever foolishly fly straight towards a Hell so humid and high.



When society shouts in rejection and repugnance, I wisely keep a still tongue and remain mute,

For I refuse to be lowered down to their disgusting debris.

Frantically attempting to not follow Icarus's faithless and fickle route,

Send me a sign from up above to show me the safest way to safety.



The water will turn my angelic appendages to wings of lead,

If I attempt to fly too close to the surface of the swallowing sea.

If I choose to take the path less traveled by instead,

Would this delicate dove sink in its own surrender or peacefully fly free?



I look up at the shimmering sky,

The clouds don't seem to be that far away.

Then I ponder to myself, "Maybe if I imagine...maybe if I try,

I can reach out and touch the sun today".



...Excuse me while I kiss the sky, but forgive me if I shall place myself on a poisoned pedestal of arrogance,

The melting point of imagination scorches the skin when the world boisterously bathes in embezzled bliss...



The aroma of arms ablaze saturates the sweltering atmosphere,

The fragrance of freedom is ecstatically felt on my pallid face.

Salvation seems to subsist in a state of suffering so severe,

The deaf perpetually painfully descend to their deplorable disgrace.



When the world screams in dissatisfaction and disapproval, I cleverly close my ears to the condemnation and continue to control my own path,

Because I decline to be incarcerated in their corrupted criticism cage.

Desperately trying to not retrace Icarus's atrocious and agonizing aftermath,

Send me some strength from within your soul to offer me enough energy to turn the profaned page.



The infernal inferno will transform my frigid fingers to feathers of flame,

If I eagerly endeavor along the edge of the exploding exosphere.

If I decide to venture the voyage in a less endeavored frame,

Would this perished pigeon proclaim to be a prisoner of the past or a pioneer that persists to persevere?



I gaze up at the iridescent sky,

The stars don't appear to be too far away.

Then I consider to myself, "Perhaps if I envision...perchance if I try,

I will reach out and lay a hand on Heaven today".



...Turmoil tragically strikes thrice when the evil eagle eliminates his enemies and annihilates his allies that inhabit under him on the toxic totem pole of prime,

Imagination maliciously melts at the very moment when an individual ignorantly believes that he or she is better that the person behind them in line...



Maybe if I imagine...maybe if I try,

I will reach out and touch the sun today.