It falls, different droplets of forgotten tears.
Frozen as white crystals, crinkling on the ground below.
Laying upon the broken frosted glass,
it hides the broken, drowned mass.
It covers the uneven dips that trek across the cackling lane.
Whispers come and go, of a story from so long ago.
Each night, the stars dim their precious light.
Frostbitten fingers no longer move.
The blood no longer beats.
The heart no longer carries that loving soul.
Nothing grows within the deadened eyes.
When the moon does glow,
her sickly hues rises the broken covered body.
It tilts its head back and scream.
It awakens the dreaming creatures,
filling those eyes.
Eyes that once shone like stars.
That searches for the hand that killed.
This was no plot to kill Icarus.
For a loving hand had let the waters suffocate it.
The single silk ribbon, red as blood,
wrapped around its slender neck.
The tears still fall, hidden under the frost.
It screams for it knows nothing else.
It screams, for it cannot understand.
It screams when the moon casts her sickly hue
And when another lover will die,
by the hand that once loved them.
So, I thought I still had my original version of this poem. Obviously, I do not. This means I’m either gonna have to rewrite it or continue searching for it. Guess which option is gonna happen.