Around her I was Icarus
with wings alight and burnt to nubs,
now glowing as embers and garnets
as I slowly descend into the adjust
of knowing there is no longer an us
and longing to submit to the plunge.
This rusted throne of kings, this gilded smile,
This divine right of blood, this gift of sight,
There are so many languages to love,
but only one English to prize
and take into ones arms with such fondness
as to spark flames of passion high
as angels might fancy to fly, my dear.
In youths youngest hour comes the dawn
and we whirl around at the sky,
and being young and in love
A piece of poetry written about the Fermi paradox and the results of finding it. This is based on the idea of the universe being filled with hostile beings.
A poem I wrote while thinking about the lost statue, “The Poet at the Gates of Hell,” now known for just it’s center portion, The Thinker.