Theme

Display Mature Content

Suppress AI Content

literature

I am Icarus Redeemed

Deviation Actions

callerofcrows

Published: Feb 27, 2012

409 Views

Literature Text

Even when every dream had drowned
and love left me choking on dust
and I felt utterly abandoned by
every aspect of my envisioned life,
something in me set on fire.

Oh, I know heat rises
and I'm lifting off.
God knows where it's taking me,
heaven has yet to shut me out.
Oh, my wings are broken
but at least I'm falling free.
It's the impact,
not my plummeting spirit,
that will throttle the light in me.

Make the first offer!

Virtual Reality headset

pbeneforti

Best Offer

or $15

Buy Exclusive

More by callerofcrows

Literature

Home

First inhalations past the threshold, wordless perfume somewhere between dust, sunlight blooming floral in an open mouth, and linen. My grandfather said his first action home after slipping the tired strap of his travel-bag off his shoulders was to kiss the coverlet of his bed, and at eight I couldn't comprehend. Now I understand it is prayer and apology for wanderlust, infidelity to spaces we so often take for granted. I cannot steal his ritual, so mine lingers in breath instead-- I refuse to breathe until I open the door, until I hunger for home, and home becomes my lungs again. I breathe around the word like wine, lips closing around the syllable, a spoonful of shepherd's pie. I am the sommelier of journey's end; it is never the same bouquet twice. Sometimes the rice has gone bad in the fridge, overpowering the ghost of lavender; Sometimes three o'clock warms old candle wax, leaving notes of peony and laughter. I savor all the same. I wonder if the doorframe

Recommended Literature

Literature

sweaterse

when you've a love in repose, all quiets are woven together. all worries and worships and weathering kept, cared, covered. every summer warms, every winter draws closer. and the silences sweeter than heaven.

Literature

self-organized

the fatal attraction of civil mysticism and the ingenuity of the perfect aspect ratio fit me into my corner so I could cube myself and bloom under pressure never ending as expected new cubbyholes to place in my belly filled with grief and relief for the mes no one wants to see.

Literature

What Things Cost

What Things Cost the best things in life are the farthest thing from free; they cost everything i know this as i wake up, aching in the same position we eased back down to earth in; powering down, still entangled we do adjust, eventually, but not away and i focus just long enough into the dark, to realize that we still have a few hours left to sleep here, the rise and fall of your breath, against me slows time, fogs my ability to fear anything but its departure and i know the act of making memories like these only defers the pooling pain of the present deeper into the trench into the dark seafloor mix of distorted time and the lost lonely continents that, in their descent, left behind the very same spirit and power vacuums we’ve settled into i know a day is brewing below that will one day rise to strike me down, like the earth pounds a single raindrop into mist i know little, yet, of what things cost, little, but enough to not let go

Suggested Collections

Poetry

Literature

A Robot Love Poem

01001001 00100000 01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00101100 00100000 01101101 01111001 00100000 01100100 01100001 01110010 01101100 01101001 01101110 01100111 00101100 00100000 01101101 01111001 00100000 01100100 01100101 01100001 01110010 00100000 01110011 01110111 01100101 01100101 01110100 00100000 01101101 01100101 01110100 01100001 01101100 01101100 01101001 01100011 00100000 01101100 01100001 01100100 01111001 00100000 01110010 01101111 01100010 01101111 01110100

Literature

stormchaser

dear sarah, yesterday I tried to swallow the sun. it burned me up on the inside until even my skin was hot to the touch, and I thought of you. I hope you have found better ways than me to feel lighter. heaven knows there are days where I still trade my feet for concrete blocks and try to sprint to the finish line, but at least I have stopped straying towards the riverbanks. at least I get out of bed. most days, that’s enough. but if you tell me that most days life still feels like a choice you’re making every minute, I will tell you that I understand. I have spent years trying to outrun my sadness, sipping sunlight until my vision blurs and looking up only to realize I’ve been going in circles and calling it progress. every escape I ever made is a town I can never go back to and I’m not better for it. I carry so many graveyards around inside of me, and I’ve lost count of how many bridges I’ve burned because I confused loving with leaving. take my sadness away, I don’t

Literature

girls on a roof.

aphrodite passes the blunt to persephone, says you have to tell me how you did that, how you seduced hades and they sit there on the roof, the stars twinkling. persephone looks youthful in a way that’s untouched, as if she’s somehow eternally seventeen or made of sunshine. i didn’t have to do much, she says. and aphrodite who’s spent years reading gossip mags & articles about “ true love ” thinks about how she saw hades take off his leather jacket & wrap it around persephone’s shoulders, easy as breathing. kissed the side of her head. gave

poetry and writing

Literature

sunday

I went to the church to put a little bit of god in me, but god was greedy today. my mortal mind felt it. trees canted down to say hello in their winter-grieved way, on the way home. a hundred little fingers asking for a chance that wasn’t mine to give. they shook with the roar. I guzzled down every liquid in the kitchen to soothe the red of my esophagus, but it only led to milk and rum and wine and half a carton of chicken broth rolling around in my innards, an angry soup. a galaxy of poison. the fever didn't go away. it looked like half- baked art in the toilet bowl. I had to unclog it.

Literature

a quiet ending

he comes quietly scythe eternally in hand afterlife awaits

Literature

Harvest

Autumn is a controlled wildfire: nature selectively burning its excess, preparing to conserve energy for the cold and create room for the birth of spring.

Featured in Groups

Love-Literature

Lit-Visual-Alliance

Major life changes going on for me. Even as one dream dies, another one springs up. I can't help feeling a terrible sense of loss for the ones I couldn't sustain, though. Maybe it's because I flew too close to the sun, as it were.

I'll win those aspirations back someday.

Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License