The Boy Who Didn’t Fly

This is not history, but tragedy, remembered by Dedalus, who remained.

Heed the call…or someone bears the toll. For memory blurs–in grief.

🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽

They say–
He fell by force
Of a summer’s harsh gale
But I do recall this last flight–
Do I?

🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽

He stood
Feathers unfurled
The ledge behind his heels.
Peered at the sun through lidless eyes–
And flew.

🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽

He tried.
But flight was naught.
Shattered bones and wing wax.
Left under the scorching sun’s rays
To melt.

🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽

A lie.
There was no heat
But false hope in great wings
And a call not to place one’s faith
In wax.

🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽

I called

But did he hear?

Or spread his waxen wings

With no care that the scorching sun

Would foil?

🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽

If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! Buy this blog a coffee — it keeps the words flowing and the lights on! Your kind donation via Paypal would be greatly appreciated!

Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.