Autumn Sun
by Thijs Streefkerk
Robe of night to conquer,
shall rise anew the morrow.
By light of flame of ages,
to burn away the sorrow.
Vast, the oaken palaces,
and temples built from bone.
But they are not perpetual,
And neither is the throne.
In forest amidst autumn leaves,
that downed to kiss the dirt.
I saw the lush weep tears of dew,
as the wind sang songs of hurt.
As I, here, remain restless,
from afar the sirens call,
to all those with a doubt to spare,
before they bear their pall.
Many a cloud I have seen before,
and some I thought my last.
But the wind was there to steer them,
and one by one they passed.
Through distant shore, the mirage lures,
ever but once a reverie.
‘though Not there now, I’ve trod before,
in illusion, hope or memory.
shall rise anew the morrow.
By light of flame of ages,
to burn away the sorrow.
Vast, the oaken palaces,
and temples built from bone.
But they are not perpetual,
And neither is the throne.
In forest amidst autumn leaves,
that downed to kiss the dirt.
I saw the lush weep tears of dew,
as the wind sang songs of hurt.
As I, here, remain restless,
from afar the sirens call,
to all those with a doubt to spare,
before they bear their pall.
Many a cloud I have seen before,
and some I thought my last.
But the wind was there to steer them,
and one by one they passed.
Through distant shore, the mirage lures,
ever but once a reverie.
‘though Not there now, I’ve trod before,
in illusion, hope or memory.
Thijs Streefkerk, 22, is a Dutch poet who believes poetry should speak for itself and is more important than any short biographical statement could ever be.