ok, so here’s a sestina I wrote. It’s based off a section of the mock-epic-esque poem i’m working on this year. it was a bit of a challenge and took a good few hours to crack out, but i’m pretty chuffed with the final product,

 

Stepping back briefly I’ll regale this from

My room during the witching hour, where the

Only sounds may stem from nothing at all:

Neither the white wash walls, nor the faux pine

Floor, could drag me out of this empire state

Of mind – the one that falls to the rebels.

 

Those who walk across the sky aren’t rebels,

But simply living for the moment. From

Seconds left to sleep, to a wintry state,

Where I’m dressed for summer and under the

Pallid lights these blood red eyes only pine

For sagging skin to hide seeing at all.

 

Sagging skin seems to hide seeing at all

And trembling secrets are tell-tale rebels

Seeking to ache skeletons cut from pine,

Eaten by termites, skull, spine, soul and all.

‘Those bad things you do, seem so far from the

Truth’, your dulcet tones will force me to state.

 

She works herself up into such a state,

And forgetting myself, I give my all

To sanguine sensations that will birth the

Poet amongst blossoms. Facebook rebels

Will stalk those they love, quietly walking from

One to the other, acting so vulpine.

 

Brisk winter walks led loneliness to pine

For Persephone in her hellish state,

Migrating south with that other bird from

The tuffet, who spilt her curds and whey all

Over the place, screaming ‘I’m no rebel,

And to prove it, I’ll end my speech with the…’

 

‘And to prove it, I’ll end my speech with the…’

She said again in tones so alpine,

‘Well, anyhow, I’m still not a rebel’.

I turned away, scared by the state

Of her eyes; they screamed ‘come one and all

Sit down beside me and see where I’m from’.

 

Only white wash walls know where I am from,

Only sounds may stem from nothing at all,

Only her call can leave me in this state.