Work Text:
Daedalus of her own creation
The wings of wax were given
not forged.
A gift from Ares, God of War
These wings are brittle
And melt by torch.
And thus
Upon her shoulders placed.
So Icarus, Daedalus, the youngest Ferin took to the skies
And who could have expected success
with wings so weak, so fickle.
Her wings kept her on the ground;
her bow kept her in the skies
Her hand kept her on the seas;
her wit kept her in their lines
The wings had failed her too many times
With all the freedom they should bring
The skies weren’t built for Ferin lives,
but the stars she wished to reach
So the wings were torn from her back
By her own free will and grasp
And melted down to plain paraffin wax
A new form she hoped to catch
In the pot her wings had sat
A blend to take her to the sun
Vybar mixed in her melted pot
And feathers she began to form
She shaped the wings
In her hands this time
Molded with love and heat
Her thumb slid and contoured
the newly developing frame.
She affixed the wings to her back
To try and fly again
No longer by torch light did they melt
But wax they still were penned
Stronger with the addition
Her hands, a creation was forged
The birds welcomed her to the sky
And with them she came and sung
The sun burned
and wax flowed
But she didn’t fall
She saw rivulets before the whole
Became the piece
The ground she returned
With honor in her eyes
Because the skies could never contest
With how she could freely breach