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.