Friday Feature: 7/11/25 - Icarus Lapyx
A Price For His Peace
Kumbaya,
Kumbaya,
Kumbaya,
Silence your children rehearse cries,
Their hollow wails hold no truth for my once-breathing brother,
For in life’s cruel theater he played the phantom in their story,
A long forgotten soul who was never loved.
And yet, they spill torrents of sorrows while he rest,
They Lay their final blooms of apology,
Of which suffocate his eternal rest,
But tell me this,
Where was this grace when breath wove through his embattled lungs?
They left him ‘lone in the cavern of solitude,
Wailing desperately and wild,
Leaving him to hear his own echoes into the void,
And with stone-hard stares,
Casting judgement for laying his soul bare.
And yet, you dare to utter in my ears with gentle whispers about peace?!
Where was his peace when he asked for it?
Yet, his request fade beneath the sun as the gaze of indifference slander him.
Where was the kindness that eluded him like a cruel mirage?
How many scars and battle must he face before he earns his halo?
He deserved celestial tapestries of starlight, not an empty, starless void,
He was meant for paradise, not a hell he called his dwelling,
No matter how fiercely he fought, your hearts offered no sanctuary.
Yet, you mouth platitudes of peace to me,
Keep your silken lies,
He thirsted for them, I do not.
Yet it was that same thirst that doused his inner light,
Radiant and majestic,
And yet, it was their relentless storms of scorn that broke his desire to want paradise.
Cold and emptied is when the torrent of regret stream through your children’s mask,
Petals lay upon his vessel,
All what is done today could been given during his days of sunlight.
All he sought was a sliver of peace,
Yet, in seeking he surrendered his very soul,
To a world unabashed in hurling stones at each sunrise he dared to believe in.
From the Press:
The Price For His Peace is both lament and reckoning—a poem that refuses to let grief be prettied up for comfort. Icarus Lapyx writes with a clarity that pierces: unflinching, accusatory, and necessary. This piece gives language to every unspoken anger we carry after a loss that wasn’t just personal, but preventable.
Each stanza is a challenge that demands from us, that we question how and when we offer grace, and to whom. The imagery is sacred and scathing in equal measure, naming hypocrisy while honoring the fallen. This is poetry not for decoration, but for truth-telling.
About the Author:
Icarus Lapyx has been writing poetry for over a decade, crafting what he calls “the darker truth.” His work reaches into grief, isolation, and rage—not only as personal expression, but as a form of connection. For him, poetry is a bridge: a way to show others they are not alone.
Originally from Massachusetts, Icarus lived a nomadic life before settling in Connecticut. He began writing after the loss of his grandmother. Since then, he’s become a repeat contributor to Dead On A Doorstep and Black Noise, and recently published his debut collection, A Vo;ce for the Vo;celess.
He is currently launching a podcast titled Tea & Poetry, a space for both his own work and the voices of other artists he collaborates with.
Where to Find:
TikTok:
@teaandpoetry28
Featured in: Dead On A Doorstep, Black Noise
Debut Collection: A Vo;ce for the Vo;celess – on Amazon
Podcast:
Tea & Poetry – coming soon
