by Corinna Schroll
Icarus stands no chance
in the face of the sun eater.
300 feet tall daughter,
no veil, no chain to suffocate her,
she walks not in the shadows of a master.
Weeping for dead dreams of the foremothers,
no bride, no mother, but a daughter of fury.
Tear her down from her pedestal,
to submit and serve
before she’ll eat the sun
to become omnipotent –
Better to burn out
submerged by flame
than to fade away.
Bride, mother, vanished,
a thousand eyes watching
have long abandoned her.
Remembered for her veil and womb,
but not her words or mind.
Loved alone by the moon,
unforgotten by celestial bodies
less uncaring than the passage of time
and the minds of men.
Past her prime, a life lived for others.
At least she HAD a husband.
Under the kings’ rule,
let me be king too and sit among them.
But they sneer and pat my head.
To them, I am another bride, mother,
But the daughters remember.
Author bio: Corinna is a 4th-semester student who studies German and Anglophone Studies at the University of Duisburg-Essen. Fascinated with exploring the latest technologies, she also likes to write and publish stories in her free time, and on occassion tries to express the inexpressible through poetry.