I remember ancient seagulls singing why you should not to go any higher. They were hope in a time of forgetful excitement. As your heightened mind overcame with this joy, your youth did not bother to listen. In such state, we became nothing but noise. The essence of our memories faded in a hot blazed sky. You lost a feather, two at most, but flies smell, with their hairs, your imminent death. Who will die alone? Whose dreams fly above the sun? Who will have to learn to let go? I did not know then, but soon I discovered the wind would take you farther away from me. I became a lost emotion that found you in clouds. The figures I see, remind me of you; this way, I am sure that you never really left. You can't leave me! We haven't flown far enough from the labyrinth, that is our minds, but you fell and did leave me here. Why didn't you listen to the seagulls' song? It hummed that without your feathers, you would fall. It hummed that beyond the sun, lies the cosmos within me and you. In solitude, one can understand the meaning of fulfillment but what is the difference between loneliness, as emptiness, and solitude, as spaciousness? The limit between one and the other is that I am free in solitude, but I am trapped in loneliness by the concepts that echo within. I don't know if I'm at fault, but I felt I did. I sank deep into a muffled pain that doesn't understand the meaning of death, a solitude that transcends our bodies, as a boundless light, so why did you have to fall as you reached farther than any seagull has ever been able to go? I would have gone with you, but my mechanical ways reminded me that wax melts, but I still regret. In loneliness, I didn't know that by feeling your emotions as my own, I would suffer. In solitude, I met the phantom that never sleeps as it whispered," Let go of the memory that weeps." I knew that it meant I should forget your failed flight toward the sun because deeply within I know that there is no such thing as death, being fallen. If I had the option between leaving you without your wings but still escaping the labyrinth, would I deprive you of the joy you reached with your wings? I can't answer this question without doubting my own sanity as I become eternal in a tale of double intent: A son's silence as a timeless becoming, and a father's lost bliss in a journey of loneliness and regret or in a lesson of a solitude and freedom. Perhaps, because it was too painful that I chose to learn, rather than to regret what's been done. And if death is the ultimate deed, then what can be done to undo it? Nothing, as we quite know. Death is the real labyrinth, not the maze I escaped from. Whereas death is silent, life simply is the pursuit of meaning. And as we gently die, meaning dilutes itself into the vastness of the timeless cosmic ocean that releases us, gives us freedom, from our memories. So before shouting from within that you're free, wait! Your wings are fragile but if it rains, going into the sun could be the only salvation. The wind could lift you above the skies; far enough to reach the cosmic ocean but not too close to the sun. If you fall above yourself, you become truly timeless, a leap of joy into an adventurous solitude, that is always awake, aware, attentive to the truth as being.
This poem makes reference to two stories: The Myth of Daedalus and Icarus and the story of Jonathan Livingston Seagull. Although Icarus is mostly seen with a negative light, through his father’s love, I try to recreate an atmosphere that redeems his foolishness as an attempt to become a Jonathan Livingston Seagull. It is also important to note that in this poetic form I am confronting those two stories, that is two possibilities or two mindsets, rather than two (i.e. left side versus the whole text) poetic compositions.