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Icarus - Enda Boyle

His wax wings melted, and he plummeted downwards

but the fall into the teal-blue Aegean did not kill him

sun struck and with a scorched back he was rescued

by fishermen and dumped onto the harbour of Delos


There he would remain until he died decades later

During that time, he became a semi-reclusive tinker

A secretive scribbler, hiding from the sun, nocturnal

He stalked the back streets with gangs of stray cats


Other times he’d get drunk and climb onto scaffolds

expounding on aerodynamics and the beauty of flight

complex free-associated ideas shouted at such speed

few of us below could keep up even if we did listen


After he died several volunteers, upstanding citizens

gathered to clean his lodgings and distribute his things

Forcing open the door and letting in harsh dawn light

they entered into the secret workshop of a broken man


The notebooks and diaries of Daedalus were piled high

His work desk was covered in diagrams of bird’s wings

and bats. Broken model flying machines covered the floor

A full-length cabinet full of tools was open and ransacked


He had spent ashen years dreaming of a means of escape

longing to once again feel the rush as his feet left the ground

he tried enumerable methods for building durable wings


but the master builder’s son lacked his father’s skilled hands.

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