Did Daedalus dream of
flight?
As, with chisel and
hammer,
he carved the granite
to fashion the maze for
the beast,
delving deep, did he see
the moment
when he might fly
and leave the cursed
island far behind?
Did he care for the fiend
doomed to exist in that
twist and turn
of lightless canals that
led nowhere
but further down; did he
regret
how clever his engineering
and mathematics
knowing the monster’s alchemic
myth
far out shone his science?
Was it ironic
that Icarus, his only son,
did not die when he flew
too high
but died when he fell
his human shell far too
frail
to greet the depths below?
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