Icarian Idyl

An amber autumn sun
is sinking in the sky
like golden leaves that run
on winds condemned to die
as all the deeds we've done
despite how hard we try,

a higher court will try
us justly when the sun
explodes and life is done
or comets from the sky
condemn our lot to die
wherever we may run.

We've had a decent run
while learning how to try
though best intentions die
deprived of precious sun
when gloomy grayish sky
has ultimately done

its job, though hope's not done,
uncertain, never run
as boundless as the sky
above we long to try
to fly through but the sun,
if neared, will make us die;

but must we conform to the die?
a creed that hasn't done
one thing to stop the sun
yet promises to run
the circus better - they'll try
to patch the ailing sky,

when porcine pilots sky
above our heads (I'd die
to see the porkers try!)
but it just can't be done
and soon we all will run
from the fury of the sun.

Ever try to reach for the sky
to brave the sun you cast a die
deciding what's done - roast or run.