In my journeys I have found that emotions are transmutable. Of course they are. Not only that, but writing as an exercise can transmute pain into comfort, sorrow into joy—and vice-versa. By my own hand, I’ve played the role of hero of the tragedy, the villain of the epic, and simultaneously the chronicler of their stories. I have tasted the bitter cup of failure, and also the sweet drink of success. Every now and then, one must go through trials, tribulations and tests. What I’ve found, is that with years-long cumulative strength of character, these moments, though they may come, can be made to fill voids that would otherwise exist eternally within our hearts.
It is in these moments of silence when the inner voice speaks to you, the inspiration comes flowing in from a piece of music, or a simple painting, photo or scene of nature that moves the soul. And rather than tears, the hand moves, the mind begins to work its magic, and the art of the spirit reaches out from the void—to fill the empty page with words, and the ears with song. Poetry is spirit medicine.
This poem was written August 22nd, 2025 at 3:33am, the second poem this morning. It just so happened to be 3m:33s long. A simple photo brought forth a feeling and the words began to flow.
I had just heard a song by the same name and knew they must go together. I borrowed the drone footage of Nature’s beauty to accompany the music and the theme. And this was the result—a poetic tragedy that helped bring closure via the epic of Icarus. Joy surmounting the chains of ambition. Sight restored, where blindness of belief made hopelessness the outcome. And finally, to give it back to God. All things in God’s timing. Nothing less, nothing more.
Despite our best efforts, sometimes things don’t work out. The archetype of Icarus is a good reminder, that to throw yourself into something so much, may not have the intended effect(s) you’d hoped for. Such was the case for me. And this poem is medicine to complete a journey with an exhale well deserved.
Music credit:
Icarus
By Matt Presti
Have you ever flown too close to the sun? To see everything come undone?
To bear the poison of rotten fruit. . .desire that uproots?
Downtrodden and stripped? Back against the fence?
Destroyed by your own hand? Wrung bare of your land?
Wherest o’ destroyer of fates and men great
Have thou hidden thy wings for my escape?
O’ Sun that shineth through these bars of steel
In my prison I kneel before the world. . .periled by thy rays
My heart too proud, my gaze too far
O’ Father, my Mother don’t look upon me now
I’ve shamed you, blamed you, torn you down
O’ destroyer whose hand is my own
Uprooted and foolish I fashioned my wings
Thinking the whole world would love what I sing
My song they will hear, their eyes gaze my flight
I will shine o’re the world of man tonight
Higher I go, faster I fly
My wax starts to melt, my feathers to writhe
My pride bequeathed the fall
The precipice near. . .now do I fear
A great spiral, smoke, flame and fire
My wings to ash breaketh as I forsaketh my father
O mother I cry, don’t let me die!
And fall becomes my permanence. . .the reason I cry
. . .for death awaits but moments nearby
The grave lo’ my head stone inscribed:
“Here Lies Icarus, Who Flew Too High”
Read more about the Greek myth of Icarus here —→
https://www.greekmythology.com/Myths/Mortals/Icarus/icarus.html
