The Foolish Mortal

After singing a slow dirge in the cold lonely night,
The winds flew wide, as I spread my wings to take flight,
With the lifting of my soul, symphonies of stars grew louder and louder,
And as the sun rose high from the twilight, the fearful moon went low to cower,
 
Some call it the return of life, signaling a new hope and era,
Others call it the eternal flame of fire, seering the globe with a fiery hatred,
But whatever it is, it showers us,
With the heat to burn, and the light to see,
 
Yet I still opened my wings far and wide,
Believing that even the sky was a breakable limit,
Flew higher and higher I did,
Ignorant of the countless warnings of the candor sun,
 
I realized too late.
 
I only saw the sun as a light of hope,
I only saw the sky as another fragile barrier in my way,
I only saw the ground as inferior to my boundless potential,
I was to be a god amongst the gods, a star amongst the stars,
 
I was blind to my own insolence.
 
And as I fell slowly to the ground,
My beautiful wings, oh my beloved beautiful wings,
Ripped and tore into a thousand rivers of feathers,
All I could see was the sun up above,
Mournful yet stern, as they cast me back down,
 
I fell and I fell,
Breaking through the ice of my pride,
Drowning in the depths of my arrogance,
Only then did I begin to understand,
 
I was no god.
I was no star.
I was the foolish Icarus, who flew too high to the heavens,
Only to be pushed away by the light of hope,
 
I was the mortal who dreamed to be immortal.