Icarus Ascended
Poem by Ian Li
On sleek wings fashioned by his father,
Icarus soared past a waning moon, delighting
in the simmering sun’s radiance, until
melted wax and loosened feathers unraveled,
tearing him from lofty heavens.
When he plummeted into the ocean,
his father hoped it would cool his ambition.
But the sun’s fiery embrace had seared
an indelible yearning onto Icarus’s heart.
He soon filled workshops full of wings,
some woven of gossamer and light,
others wrought of starsteel and valor,
each surpassing his father’s artisanship,
until he finally created the perfect pair—
indestructible, unwavering under an onslaught
of tungsten hammers set ablaze on rivers of lava.
He carved a pirouette in the sky
as he ascended—faster, higher, hotter.
Gilded feathers brushed off
the sun’s scorching gaze,
arteries of fire threatened
to burst from within him,
yet still he climbed—faster, higher, hotter,
until all that remained:
a silhouette of perfect wings.