Sestinas are among the hardest poems to write. They follow a difficult format and the first one I wrote took me an hour, the second one took me about 30-40 minutes. Despite their difficulty, sestinas are now my favorite type of poem to write. Find something obscure, or perhaps overdone? Let me know in with your comments!
The Plea
I will fold my wings, put them away
They have no need, nor reason to be
Fanciful they are, merely a dream
A fantasy of children, children in love
Oh! How I'll miss her, and her song,
I still hear it echo in my lonely soul
A lock and key are needed for my soul,
It releases feelings better kept lost, away
From me, yet though I try, I hear their song
Tormenting me. I crave melody! Music, be
My savior, my only salvation, my only love
Please, lead me from myself, show me my dream!
This curse, this infection, it poisons my dream
The deadly venom, it infiltrates me, my soul
Tears kiss my face: Please, take me to my love
My thoughts, distant, obscure, flown away
No! The thought of her must stay, not cease to be!
I beseech you, master of mystery, fill me with song
My ears ache to hear ethereal majesty! Her song
Alone can turn dare one's darkest fear to dream
Without it the flowers wither, gone. Can it be,
That without anything to save me, my soul
Could dry, crack, crumble, and fade away
Like demons in Hell, devoid of Father's love?
Oh sweet, incandescent happiness, dost thou love
Me for me? Oh fair angel, can you divulge your song,
Reach out, cradle me like a babe, whisk me away?
Take me to the land, where all I want is but a dream
And let the fantasy caress me, love me, fill my soul
With care no one ever bestowed upon me, be as I be.
Myself as I am, my face as it horrendously be,
How could an angel, fair as any see, show love
To a devil such as me, with naught but hate in soul
And the curdling screams of doom as my solitary song?
Shall I reveal it? Sear like fire, a bittersweet, lovely dream?
Feast your eyes! Fear not! Judge not! Look not away.
Be true, dear angel, give me my own song!
Love me, for that is my one and only dream!
Soul crusher, hurt no more, send not this one away!
The Unbroken Heart's Flower
I can no longer hide from my heart,
My very being is quaking with change,
Adjusting to this newfound me, a lie
In the form of a woman. Dangerous, lovely,
Yet a threat nonetheless, and unworthy of trust.
Oh, angel of darkness, save your demon of light!
He crawls toward the strong, yellowed light,
Even though I break his once unbroken heart.
How can he confide in me, and place his trust
In someone who so often asked him to change?
I retain that trait of beauty, of being truly lovely
Yet within my being, my core, it is not true—A lie!
When I fell down the steps of morality, landing on a lie,
I was stolen, and bewitched by a subterranean light
A light that, although dark, gloomy, and eerie… was lovely
It took from me, my very beating, pulsating heart,
That thrived in sameness, and new nothing of change.
I deceived myself, and was robbed of my only trust.
Oh, can I ever say I knew truth, or even true trust?
The years fritter away and I am left to wonder. A lie,
Or a stretch? Something remaining, staying, or a change?
How I yearned for the unknown beyond that strange light,
The passion within my soul, erupting volcanically at heart
That longing was something to be seen! Oh, how lovely!
And yet, what is ugliness, without something lovely?
Could we exist where opposites attract, where trust
Is bitten away, slowly, by a worm, a parasite of the heart?
I shall say to myself, without a doubt, that I see a lie,
One so iridescent, that the infernos of sun are not as light
A falsehood that is forever permanent, not subject to change
How I ache to start anew, feel in a different way, and change
Into a woman who embodies virtue, honesty, and is lovely
Now that she is clad in luminosity, and is stunning in this light.
I desire inconsolably for the faith of my angel, for his trust,
For I am exhausted, unbearably so, of living with this lie,
I cannot thrive as long as there is death within my heart.
Change me into flower, so I will bloom in trust
Lovely I shall be, my petals devoid of any sort of lie
Light will my spirit be, as carefree as an unbroken heart
Cautiously making my way down the dimly lit corridor to my old dressing room, I found it unlocked. As I entered, closing the door silently behind me, I was surprised to see almost everything as it once was—the bed made, the flowers, now dead, arranged with ribbons and letters of praise. Again, it was as if nothing had changed. But everything had—my whole world had changed. I must change it back!
With that thought, I slowly walked over to my mirror, within which my angel would appear many nights. I laid a warm hand upon the smooth, cool glass. Could he see me? Does he want to?
I seated myself at the mirror, facing it fully. "Angel," I called, "Angel." Please hear me.
Softly at first, then growing in volume, I sang my sweet tune properly named, "Angel of Music." I sang it again and again, without fail, praying he would somehow hear me.
I must have thought of twenty titles by now! Why do none of them fit! Maybe I should finish the opera, and then name it. Oh, what does it matter? A title is a title, it has no worth—why should it be so challenging to think of a simple phrase to put into perspective my musical genius!
Tossing my ink pen to the side, I growled in frustration. Laying my head upon the keys of the organ, as I had so often found myself doing, I listened to the quiet, studying it.
All was silent and sleeping, until I heard something. Something that was very familiar—heartbreakingly so. A voice so pure, so ethereal… my eyes widened as I sat bolt upright. Could it be? I listened, straining my ears to hear specific words. The faint, chiming melody was familiar! I do recognize it, if only I could remember! I do hear someone's voice, someone dearly beloved. Then, all of a sudden, it ceased.
I shook my head. No, there was not so much as an echo of what had just been sung. I rubbed my temples. It must have been my imagination.
Not daring to linger any longer upon such a sensitive subject as the one within my head, I picked up my ink pen from the floor, and scribbled another name, only to cross it out moments later. Oh, Erik… what has become of you?