I was known for my skill,
indeed I built the great labyrinth
- for which they imprisoned me.
So when I made our wings
I made them well, worked the wax,
chose all the feathers carefully.
I didn't know if it could work.
I knew the theory and some facts,
used all my art and trigonometry.
People forget now that I flew too.
I didn't just stand and cheer below
to watch Icarus ascend the blue.
I warned him not to get excited.
Not to soar too high,
climb too close to the sun.
I made no promises either.
But now people look at me
as if to say "he killed his son".
I only dreamed of escape
- he shared that dream with me.
Was I so wrong?
First published 23/5/15 Three Drops From A Cauldron