Icarus
The closer he went like a light-craving moth, The farther he seemed from her, like her wroth, Like the helplessness in him, his actions had wrought, Less better tidings, the day’s moonlight brought. There was once a time, when his
The closer he went like a light-craving moth, The farther he seemed from her, like her wroth, Like the helplessness in him, his actions had wrought, Less better tidings, the day’s moonlight brought. There was once a time, when his
Silently through the night, her formless hands creep, Searching, feeling for him, through the lands of sleep, The darkness around, its not an easy rival to win, So, finding him, she waits, for the right time to begin. She knocks
He begins another day, fishing in the waters of his mind, He knows not, if that lost object he will ever again find, It will never repeat, even if only to again remind, Only its memory, a vague sketch, it
The next batch of them stepped out of the cave, The first steps they were taking out of the enclave, Everything went blank, outside, it was just blinding, So unprepared for things that were now emerging. Things they never heard
You are struck by one, and then another, blow, Perhaps a result of lettings things to go slow, In retort, in return, a harder punch you try to throw, Feeling it sailing across, you begin to get back the flow.