Icarus - II

Immersed in waters grim, he looks on high -
an exile's glance on land no longer his -
seeking, hand floundering, with Hades nigh,
Daedalus' voice that no longer is.

Poseidon cares not, pulling him beneath -
An essence that he once thought to be clear
only darkness to his eyes dares bequeath.
The song of ghouls now beckons, low and drear.

Perhaps, where Metis sits in Zeus' mind,
he knows - he further falls if up he moves.
For what is there to greet his wretched kind
except the deadly sear of light-forged hooves?

Yet still he fights the shadowed shrouds away
as Hades' laughter beckons he obey.