Balance the Scales

Aside the stream of a starving king
The valley beneath that rolling stone
Icarus weeps on sodden wings
He knows not how to get home

Eternal penance at Rhamnusia’s hand
He bloodies his fingers to no fruition
To balance the scales by grains of sand
Though leaden the hubris of his perdition

Beneath a blue moon, the fulcrum bends
His chest does swell as freedom nears
Lesson unlearned, his progress ends
Spew protest and prayer upon deaf ears

He curses the father who gave him flight
Condemns Apollo’s avaricious pride
Petty the god who bears no slight
Through no fault of his own had Icarus died

Yet with none to hear, he burned within
The youth of his soul to ember and ash
Now but cinders, the fire wears thin
Hollow and wretched, his teeth do gnash

While this obdurate oaf claws at his past
Pitifully plucking what feathers remain
Such does the weight of his sin amass
That he sinks to his knees, not stacking a grain

Succumbed to fate, his pride plateaus
And though the extent of which enough to whelm
He lifts himself from his repose
And sets to wander in Tartar’s realm

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