If you were to meet
Icarus, he would never be
slumped in defeat
He would not sit crying
would never curse his burns
he would never regret flying
If you were to speak
to Icarus, to narrate to him
poems of his tragedy
I'm sure he would
whisper in your ear
"Sunshine, you are misunderstood."
"There is nothing tragic
about grasping what
you love, even for a second.
YOU ARE READING
She Loved Withering Sunflowers
PoetryA collection of poems that alternate genres and moods. a book to the universe, so that it may know her.
