You'dve run first, if you had Icarus' nerve,
but you're good, your radar's on a hair trigger;
when you waltz through a door,
all your wet eyes look for
is the other way out
and the best, biggest earth
to scorch under your bare running feet.
Thunder harrumphs at a stepparent's distance,
but lightning strikes like God's own matches,
one bolt at a time,
sort of like my damaged wings do,
as soon as Icarus' nerve breaks
and I make up some fairy tale
to justify my latest flight.
Copyright (c.) 2009 by Adam Henry Carriere. All Rights Reserved.
