Hunter Corbett

5 min read

Icarus dreamed he knew of a better world.

He tried to escape,

And he did;

For a moment, just a moment,

He could look down upon

Any worry or weakness,

For he had transcended them;

For a moment,

He was free.


But wings of tainted innocence

Made with youthful arrogance

And a father’s words too easily squandered,

Cannot hope to tempt the sun.


So Icarus fell,

Screams piercing the air,

Melted wax scalding his back.


And the wind whispered in his ear,

“Behold the winged boy,

Falling to his grave.”

He fell,

And tried to do



But his wings could not,

Would not be mended,

Just like his broken dreams.


He met with the icy darkness of the thrashing sea,



Awaiting the end of a life that had barely begun.


And his wings,

His ambitious wings,

Only hindered his attempts to stay afloat.

He had been caught in the ocean’s noose,

And was resigned to a dismal fate,

As the last of him disappeared

Beneath the selfish waves.



Unlike most,

He chose to fly;

So he soared.


And for a while,

He had everything:

Which is more than the nothing

That most resign themselves to.


Icarus got his last wish—

To live life with the passion most people lose.

But no one gets too close to the sun

Without falling,

Hurtling back to the earth,

Which is a fate worse than death

After you have seen the gods.


But Icarus had wings;

We barely have feet...

What makes you think

We stand a chance?