Herbert James Draper, Mourning for Icarus (1898)

There are days when I push carelessly beyond the bounds of my own mortality
Brushing against the edge of the heavens in the frantic flight of my own fancy
And I try to capture the moon and stars while ascending to the seat of the sun
In the valiant pursuit of my own vainglory; trespassing of the limits of body and soul
Yet, for the moment I soar within the vision of my mind’s imagination
But it is not long before my cramping muscles and my throbbing head remind me
I am indeed mortal and not a god, that my limits are painfully real
That my wings are only a clever construct of wood and leather and stolen feathers
Held together with pins and hinges and melted wax
And that as I approach the fire in the sky they evaporate in the heat
While my body finds itself unable to sustain its efforts on the thin air of the heavens
So I plummet again to my home in the dust, collapsing into the hard embrace of earth
Wounded in body and spirit and yet the deepest blow is to the pride
Yet, my body heals and the spirit forgets and the ego yearns
As I once again tan the leather and steal the feathers and build the wings
For the next time I try to make the impossible ascent into the heavens

Neil White, 2013