Trumpets for Icarus (30,000 Feet)

Trumpets sound

to the tune

of my own

creation

A tune for me

the god you see

~

Flying high,

swollen pride,

30,000 feet,

my confidence

stretched thin

beneath my heat

~

Accursed I am

like Icarus,

escape from my prison

became the

crutch

that never held me back

from always

flying too high,

too far

from everything

that offers stability

in search of

the greatness

bestowed upon me

too lonely

doing

what we all want to do—

touch the sky—

feel the eternity

of the line

between

sunrise—sunset

be that of a god,

thee—god

of our own making

on our own.

~

I cannot soar

like Icarus,

but my spirit

it soars.

My prison—

my rusty old

set in stone cage

held me back,

but once free

I didn't heed

got too ahead

of myself and everyone else.

~

Hubris, maybe—

but more:

a need to fly.

To give power

to my creativity

power and space

so no river

valley or mountain

could stop me

but alas, pride —

pride comes before

before a fall.

~

And a fall from 30,000 feet

leaves more than bruises—

but a tattered, torn semblance

of truth.

*

Thanks for reading!

Author's Notes: This poem is both a celebration of reaching 30,000+ total reads on Vocal and an entry for Poppy's Prompt Thing #13: Greek Mythology. I chose Icarus because I relate greatly in many ways to stories of pride and hubris and also felt it was a grounding, slightly ironic way to celebrate huge achievement like 30,000 total reads.

I would not have been able to achieve 30,000+ total reads on my own. Thank you, as ever, to anyone and everyone who has read even just one piece that I have written, then liked it and commented. But even more so, thanks to the people who show up time and time again in the comments section, supporting, encouraging and taking me down a peg or two when necessary.

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