There’ve been bold wings built strong of many things
for many reasons meant beneath the sun.
Bones of steel, and alum skins, and wooden
frames for silk. Tight canvas woven in mills.
We have flown around this world on wings
built strong and safe and we have often run
before the wind, before our time, and when
we return to earth, modern are our skills.
But nature doesn’t cause true steel, or bind
aluminum to ribs of lathe. We learned
to fly from birds’ technology and tales
of dreams enough so we don’t reach out blind.
Wax and feathered wings and Icarus burned.
First flight was dreamed, and still so often fails.
(Not my best, but I can re-work it later. A little over an hour to go. It’ll have to do.)
I love the way you worked the story of Icarus here. I think that overall the poem may be a bit too wordy/heavy, and wonder what it might be like if the words were simpler in some places. Definitely a very unique take on the prompt!
Thank you. I agree with the weight. It needs lightening up. I thought that when I posted it. It’s one that I’ll definitely re-approach and brush up. I’m glad you like the take on Icarus. He’s one of my anti-examples. Hubris being hubris, I look to him and I think, “Nope, not gonna do it.”