“You’re gifted, talented, you have potential. Take these wings, you’ll go far.”  Special classes, extra credit, advanced placement. Remember, recall, and reproduce: 1492, H20, πr2, and Et tu Brute?  “Sit and absorb. Regurgitate into bubbles On test sheets and Scantron® rectangles.”  “Absorb more, regurgitate more. Nevermind creativity, We lounge on the shoulders of giants. More diplomas, more money, more happy”  On man-made wings, I fly close to a sun That turns out to be a fluorescent lamp, Crash and land head-first in a sea of glass.  Shattered, limping, mask-wearing, Daily move paper, hand to hand and desk to desk, First one way, then back again. Gifted? Talented? Wasted potential.  Three diplomas, no money, small happy Mourn lost self under a wave of blue light. In dreams sometimes, as if to mock, I see shadows of self as might have been.  Then, in horror, I hear my own voice,  Now Daedalus, to my own child, “Take these wings, you’ll go far.”

This was my first attempt at poetry in about 15 years, and I hope I didn’t do too terribly.

My goal was to express the emotions felt by an adult with a life of broken dreams (in this case, specifically me, but I suspect it’s a common experience) as they try to encourage their children to pursue their own dreams.

Though I do think it’s a common experience, in the end I make no claim of universality, only that this is how I feel it.


One Response to “Icarus”

  1. 1 Selling a Mid-Life Crisis | withamouthfullofstones

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