Faith of a Different Sort

Keep faith, my half empty Icarus
You can fill yourself by your own light
It is the want, not the need, which is beautiful
A man, winged, stands in the dark
She pulls the chain
Bottled light
And he begins to melt
Does he mind the lack of wings?
Is the compromise satisfying?
Forgoing complete freedom
In exchange for love
How can he think through the sweat and blood?
Dripping heavy with the heat
I am wax
I have become wax
Sculpt and un-sculpt myself
Until it is too soft to mold