Icarus Falls

On the edge of a parapet

stands a young person 

with nothing but

wings made of wax

and the boldness

to jump. 

 

We were told as children

that the myth 

always ends in tragedy. 

It ends with:

A fall. 

Broken Bones.

Faded Ideas. 

 

Icarus has fallen many times. 

And has risen in equal parts.

 

Icarus fell with burnt books and 

library carcuses

which were dismantled by 

people who wanted to control:

The knowledge.

The narrative.

The people.

 

Icarus fell with Hypatia of Alexandria. 

 

And rose with the renaissance. 

That collection of people 

with so much dedication to knowledge. 

 

Indeed, Icarus has fallen many times. 

 

He falls still. 

 

With Glaciers, 

and forests, 

 

And hope. 

 

But Icarus is rising

with the nerve to fight. 

With the sea levels, that grow 

higher and higher. 

So that the littlest people, 

the Oppressed, 

the Impoverished, 

the Children, 

are the first to see

that everyone is 

drowniing. 

 

And are the first, 

thusly, 

to scream.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Our world

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