Vacation

Touch the clouds with metal wings

Do not call me Icarus

I'm not that naive, young dreamer

Those delusions were abandoned long ago

Buried deep within the earth, alongside him

I'm not flying blindly into the sun

Trailing feathers of hope in the wind

I'm caught in my next planned distraction

Within the belly of an airborne machine

Indistinguishable from the other living bodies around me

Those who trade life force for stoic resignation

This is the way we've adapted

Conditioned to bleed out the affliction

Keeping the assembly line of Capitalism running smoothly

We smile as we spend our carefully earned vacation days

A temporary escape from the day-to-day routine

The realization that the cost is way too steep

Dawns on too late