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.