End of a Dream

Too bad that there was nothing I could do,
but then, he surely must have piqued the Gods
as he trespassed upon their territory

in bright-eyed trying, and my ramble on the rocks
was sadly broken by the sudden sight
of this grim miracle that seemed to change

the very light's intensity: a flash,
a bright bird flying by that when it dropped
into the sea proved nothing stranger than

a scorched but shiny boy. I saw his eyes
implore the callous world to let him fall
no victim to his father's lonely dream

perused on home-made wings. There must have been
a ruse of sheer elation, that short sense
of having made it, almost like a shock:

the view of fields below, the ploughmen shrunk
to terracotta dolls, the fat sheep strewn
like pebbles scattered on the verdant hills,

realisation of the end of bounds
before the final failure broke the dream
in one sharp plunge that drowned all light and sound

while I stood staring there to find the sea
refused to recognise this awesome splash
but just lay gently sparkling. On the waves

the deep momentum of the day was lost,
and all that's left me is the stricken look
upon a face half-seen the Gods forsook.