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by Ondine Evans

Walking backwards, away from the cave,

I take my flock of thoughts out of circulation,

Hiding in plain sight.

The pursuers will follow my trail to the dead-end conclusion

In the cave of ideas (Plato might be there when they arrive, stoking the fire),

Just as I reach the beginning of my own ideas' formation.

My winged helmet flies me away,

Leaving my thoughts huddled in a field, confused.

I look down as the ground disappears,

Rushing backwards, upwards, outwards, and into the stratosphere.

Icarus smiles and waves me on. 


 Written in response to Wednesday 31st August exercise. 

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