Icarus flew for the briefest moment,
Screaming his freedom to the stars above.
Making Death his only true opponent,
The highest challenge of which Death must love.
So he tumbled from the merciless sky,
Wax dissolving under Sun's fiery gaze.
But yet, he had never been quite so high
As he had felt when he first caught ablaze.
Now, Death and Sun sit silently thinking,
Shredding the wings of angels is cruel.
They think of the poor broken boy sinking.
Was it all a part of some twisted rule?
Thus runs the tale of the boy who could fly,
And those in the heavens, who didn't ask why.
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