Poor Icarus
Father says to fly to the sun,
To outstretch my arms and reach for fame
But be careful, he says, my son,
Because there is a deadly thing too terrible to name.
No one talks about what the stars do,
Behind the closed doors of their beautiful houses
sitting on beaches in Calforina’s Malibu,
As if the cold ocean will them douse.
Icarus wants the fame
With all the hurt it will make.
There is no one to blame
But those who cause orange bottles to shake.
But still, he uses their needles
And poor Icarus, away he wheedles.
This poem is about:
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: