The Flight of Daedalus

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.