icarus in flight (eat the apple, kiss the sun)

i am a moth because

my father was a moth

and his father was a moth

in the process

chaos begot chaos

we flew from generation to generation

into the eye of the storm

the belly of the fire

and the suffocation of the water

the fire was blazing

but our memory was short

our wings were candle wax

that hardened, transformed, again and again

after the harshness of the heat faded

if I traced our ancestry

did my father’s father’s father’s father

fall after kissing the sun

or did he rise to embrace

the inevitability of his impulsivity?

i am born from a line of moths: icarus and eve

was it curiosity or rashness

that made us fly from generation to generation

without knowing the

quiet of a cloudless day

the warmth of embers

the tranquility of still water?