Captive in a maze of his own making,

He thought the world was his for the taking.

A master of crafts, but marred by great pain.

All attempts to escape were made in vain.

Until he was inspired by the wings,

Wings of birds that he could fashion from strings.

He used feathers, strings and wax to fashion,

Unaware gods wouldn’t show compassion.

He and his son flew out of the great maze.

Where his son’s wings would melt in a great blaze.

Icarus flew high up into the sun.

His father was helpless to save his son.

The guilt of a death that should not have been,

Ate at the helpless father from within.

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