I want to be Icarus

Could you imagine it.

The serene golden light
painting my face.
A splattering of sun,
As I reach at its warmth;
My bliss.

My reckless restless swoops,
Brushing against the clouds,
Ethereal and immense.

Oh, how the roaring winds
would sting,
Poking life into my lungs.

Can you see it—
My brief freedom.

Please, tell me.
Would it be real?

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