HEROIC
IMAGES I: SO YOU THINK YOU CAN FLY, MR ICARUS?
How far we have gone
into the collective myth
where Icarus,
flying into the Sun,
burns his wings
at the hearth of Creation.
Icarus, gone mad,
inside his flying
machine,
Technology promising to
keep us going
so long as we believe
in its magic.
In an enormous lift of
bootstring faith
we swoop and fly
over a horizon fit for
heroes,
over a deep-blue sea full
of
long-forgotten
beginnings.
But now, in this created
future lies
a more awesome mystery.
Already we stand in awe
before
the fireball
in our feared vision,
consumer of creation.
I sit in the kitchen,
nowhere to go,
listening to Pink Floyd.
Outside, the summer rain
turns the garden
into a jungle beyond
control.
A sparrow peeks in at the
window,
beak all quizzical
at the man locked inside
four walls:
"So you think you can
fly, Mr Icarus?"
RW, first draft,
15.VII.82, second draft, 15.XII.92.
Copyright, Rory Winter 2013
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