The world has always needed

Special people

Whether it wants them or not.

They are the ones

Who make the ships

Ordinary men sail

And the swords

Those men die upon.

In Athens

Long ago

There was such a man

Who could divert rivers into bath houses

And mold marble into breathing statues.

His name was Daedalus

And he knew that he was special.

But this great man was growing old.

Soon, other great men would replace him

Greater ones, even

Who would make even greater things

For gods and mortals alike to love.

Daedalus’ nephew was such a one.

Still a boy, to be sure

But quick and clever with his hands

As crafty as Hephaestus,

The gods’ blacksmith,

And as brilliant as Athena,

The grey-eyed goddess.

He filled Daedalus with fear and envy

Alien things in his heart, sticky with shame.

Next to this boy, this child

He became one of those

Awful

Ordinary people.

His feelings boiled into hatred

Warm and wet

That spilled over

Into his hands

Which shoved the child

From Athens’ tallest tower

On one cloudy day.

Daedalus could only watch–

A breathing statue–

As he realized what he had done.

But what he did not know was that Athena,

The grey-eyed goddess,

Had saved the boy

By transforming him into a gray partridge

That screeched

And flew as far from Athens as it could.

Daedalus, guilt-ridden and singular again,

Was banished from Athens

And left to sail aimlessly upon a lonely sea.

He yearned for death then

As salt scratched his cheeks

And the sun seared his eyes

But even special people

Cannot choose when their story ends.

By the grace of Poseidon,

Lord of the seas,

Daedalus landed upon the island of Crete

Ruled by Minos

The beloved, blessed son of Zeus

Blessed all the more

For what Poseidon,

Earth-shaker,

Had brought him.

Daedalus’ crimes were pardoned

And he found welcome in Minos’ court.

He built him great wonders in his gratitude–

Near-magic toys for Minos’ children

And aqueducts for the populace.

Ariadne,

Minos’ wisest child,

Would sit beside Daedalus as he worked

And marvel at his greatness

As another child once had.

In this new land, with these new people

Daedalus hoped and believed that he would be redeemed.

He allowed his ambition to return

Ten-fold

And he grew even grander than before.

He even fell in love

And had a son,

Icarus,

Whose eyes were brighter

Than the sun’s rays.

When he saw his son’s face

Daedalus thought,

“Now, I can be content.”

But he was not.

He remained unsatisfied

With all he had done

And couldn’t yet do.

Since Daedalus had arrived in Crete

It had grown into a mighty empire

Glimmering with the gold and jewels

Of conquered kingdoms.

There had never been a stronger navy

Thanks to Daedalus’ invention of the mast and sail

Which allowed man to conquer the sky and sea.

For bringing such prosperity

And such a special man

Poseidon,

Earth-shaker,

Believed he was owed thanks.

He sent the Cretans a bull

White as sea foam

To sacrifice and return in their appreciation.

But Minos,

Son of Zeus and king of Crete,

Believed that he was one of those special people

To whom gods give exceptions,

And resolved to keep the sacred bull alive

In his own emerald green pastures.

Poseidon was filled with rage

A rage that thrashed ceaselessly in his immortal heart.

So he punished Minos

And brought undying shame upon him.

The god of seas,

The tormentor of men,

Poseidon

Cursed Minos’ wife,

Pasiphae,

To lust after this white bull

Beyond all cure.

Pasiphae approached Daedalus

And begged him to help her get a closer look at the creature.

Daedalus did not know of Poseidon’s curse;

He thought only of the chance

To approach the sacred beast

Closer than any mortal before

And his ambition flew within him

And was his only guide.

He constructed a wooden bull

Lifelike but hollow

Large enough for Pasiphae to fit within.

And brilliant as he was

Daedalus would not connect his invention

To the queen’s pregnancy weeks later.

It was only after the monster was born

That he knew what he had done.

There had never been anything like it

This special, singular beast.

From its torso to its feet

It was human

Though covered in thick, coarse hair.

But its head

Was that of a bull—

And one quite unlike its father.

Its fur was matted and gray

And its eyes were redder than Ares’.

It was called the Minotaur

For though Minos was not its father

It was his sin to bear.

But in his pride

And his fear

Minos would not accept responsibility.

He threw it upon Daedalus instead

Who had, after all, built the wooden bull

And done it far too well.

Daedalus did not argue with the king

For he knew he spoke the truth.

The gods did not forget

And neither could he.

His eyes were forever scarred by the

Small, scrambling limbs

Falling after the thrust of his hands.

Daedalus, guilt-ridden and singular,

Refilled with regret and shame

Agreed to find some way to cage his newest creation.

And so he built the labyrinth

And it was his masterpiece.

It stood beneath Minos’ palace–

Was made of unforgiving, impenetrable walls.

The only light in the damp, dark maze

Came from dimly-lit torches

That shivered in the cold.

And it was here that the Minotaur

Was sentenced to live

For the crime of existence.

But the Minotaur could never truly be buried away or forgotten.

It howled every night

Hungry

For flesh and blood.

And so,

Twisting a knife into Daedalus’ sad, tired heart

Minos would summon twelve youths from his home

Athens

Once a year

And would sacrifice these young men and women

To satisfy his child’s hunger.

And Daedalus, brilliant and singular,

Could only watch like a breathing statue–

His ambition fluttered in him no more.

The labyrinth had consumed him.

He could no longer love any of his creations,

And nothing else either.

He barely noticed as his son grew

And his wife died.

Many years passed

And Daedalus truly believed his ambition dead.

But when Ariadne came to him

And begged

As her mother once had

For some way to guide a hero,

Theseus, an Athenian youth,

Through the labyrinth so that her brother might at last be slain

Daedalus could not resist.

He gave her an endless ball of string

To tie to Theseus

So that he would not be lost in the maze.

And in this way

Daedalus conquered his own greatness

And defeated his labyrinth

While his greatest mistake

Was erased

By a simple thrust of Theseus’ steel.

But Daedalus’ triumph was short-lived.

Ariadne and Theseus sailed away

Before Minos could punish them

And all his rage fell upon Daedalus.

But Daedalus did not mind punishment

And did not argue.

For his ambition was too busy

Preening itself once again.

But he soon quaked

And his eyes grew wide

When Minos ordered for Icarus

To share his sentence.

Father and son

Were locked in Crete’s tallest tower

Miles above the empty labyrinth.

It was here

In this windy prison

That Daedalus spent his days

Eyes locked on the skies

For he could not bear to see his son’s bright eyes

Hid from the sun.

And it was here

That Daedalus watched the birds

Make light of the divide between gods and men

As they soared through the heavens

And went unpunished.

And it was here

That Daedalus devised his final creation.

Out of feathers and wax

His aged hands crafted two sets of wings.

He waited

For a day that was Zephyr-blessed

And when such a day came

He spoke to Icarus

And gave him

All the wisdom that he had:

“Do not, my son, fly too low

Where lazy birds will crow

For the sea will wet your wings

And drag you fathoms deep.

And do not, my son, fly too high

As foolish birds may try

For the sun will melt your feathers

And rob you of all tethers.”

With this warning

Father and son leapt from the tower

And became the first men to fly.

The feeling they felt

Cannot be described–

For it was singular.

The best that could be said

Was that it would trick any man

Into believing he was a god.

But Daedalus knew more now

Than he had ever known

And he clung to the middle current

Because he knew his life depended on it.

But he was still not wise enough

To remember

That Icarus was still young.

Icarus gazed below

At all the small, ordinary people.

And the smaller they became

The more remarkable he felt.

And he did not realize

How high he was drifting.

Daedalus cried out

Too late.

The wax had already softened

And all he could do was watch–

A breathless statue–

As his genius failed

And his son fell to the earth.

A haze of white surrounded him

As his feathers flew apart

And as Icarus plummeted

His fingers scratched the sky.

When Daedalus landed alone—singular—

He would bathe an undiscovered island in his tears.

And he would name this new place

After his lost child

While he would remember

All the children

That he had failed.

But as the sun set on that day

And the sky bled to sleep

All he could do was howl his heart away.

He barely noticed

A partridge land upon his shoulder

And barely heard

The elegy it sang

For an ordinary man

Who had tried.