Rebecca Gilbert

Rebecca gilbert is from the UK, currently studying in her second year of an undergraduate degree at Lancaster University. She has loved reading and writing for most of her life, and hopes to one day become a teacher to share this passion with others.

The Fall

I wonder how Daedalus felt as he watched his sons body 
plummet to the ground
with hot wax 
                         and feathers floating
                                                                 from the sun;
the only temporary marks Icarus managed to create.
I wonder did he mourn for his sons future?
did he cry for the years Death had stolen from him
or did he know that it never really mattered
for Icarus had lived life 
                                          as a ghost
loving only one he had failed to reach when it actually mattered.
I wonder did his Gods watch him fly?
had Daedalus whispered hushed prayers to his own
before whispering hushed warnings on Icarus’ 
deaf ears, I wonder had Icarus prayed
for the autonomy 
                                  he was finally granted?
They say he laughed as he fell
but do you think this was what he wanted?
do you think he wanted this death induced fame?
Did he know there is no glory in being anonymous,
in surviving when no one knows you exist?
His body may have fallen
                                              but at least now 
                                                                            he had loved

His Fall

            Forgive me

I had always seen the fates bloodied thread dragging 
you down to the waves 
thrashing in anticipation
ready to consume your weak body,
to clean the remnants of hot wax from your burnt skin

            I'm sorry

I forget how fragile you mortals 
are, with your damaged wings and 
delicate bodies, 
you are not made to love Gods
Icarus, you were not made to love me. 

           It was never meant to be.

Us Gods are fickle creatures.
we cannot love like you do, like it is 
the only thing to give you glory,
our love is not glorious it is 
painful like the searing heat of my sun.

                         Because passion is just another fire
                         and love just another flame that burns.

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