His distant beginning was timeless,

without vision and transfixed.

And then he appeared

with bated breath of spring

and warmth of summer –

games on end; a childhood,

blissful existence until

rebirths of Icarus had touched

his soul and daring destiny

with fate unknown.

It was but a dream that he could reach

the sun. The blazing Star dissolving

his manmade wings, curtail his ascent

by gravity that pulls him down toward

the mortal depth.

Last rays of light cling for one more instance to

the mountain peak, reflect his desolate

composure. Shattered remains of lost labour

decompose beneath the heights, he could not


the tunes he failed to play as Orpheus did.

May then his useless instrument disperse

against the boulders so deafly and numb

which obstruct his path as if he never knew

the glow of charity, never

had given but taken.

He had emerged Stark-naked, out

of nowhere and similarly he vanishes

as ripples level out in waters

after birds fly off, frightened,

as if there never were motion

nor vision

or time.


painting –  Icarus 20 century