The Cave: a Sestina
i don't know if any of you know what a Sestina is. i suggest looking it up on Wikipedia, but in short, it's a fucking complicated form for a poem, and for a semi-final-esque thing for my poetry class, we had to write a form poem, and i had to choose the most difficult one to attempt.
It was on a night I knew you'd be gone
far back east; inside a fourteen story
office building. With slow, recycled air
venting from up above, almost perfect,
how it'd drip like stalactites in a cave,
muffled and moist. Were you not treated well?
On that night I went outside late. And well,
it could have been a dream. My mind was gone
like a bat, fleeing from its brightened cave,
frightened and loathing revealed history.
The forest I wandered in was perfect;
the way the light soaked the leaves in the air-
as bats and birds fluttering in cave air
like fleeting thoughts. I slid down the stairwell
of grass and rock, into dark so perfect
and mocking of the forest that's long gone;
above, like you in the multi-story
complex. Using my lighter in the cave
I saw formations and a drunken cave-
man, whispering softly in the damp air,
Come closer and I'll tell you a story,
flickering hair draped like a mossy well,
over twitching blue-gray eyes, She is gone
now, but a while ago she was perfect.
How, right now, in the light, you are perfect.
He dropped into a pocket of the cave
behind him, and just like that he was gone,
raspy cackles echoing in the air;
my tiny light wavered. I felt unwel-
come in this cave of unspoken stories,
until she faintly whispered her story
under a rock, I used to be perfect…
Her crushed teeth whistled her words pretty well
as her hand reached, clawing the red-stained cave,
fingers tapping her busted teeth. The air
carrying the taps until they were gone.
Stories I heard told from those in the cave
Perfected themselves as the indoor air
Welcomed them out to wherever they've gone.
It was on a night I knew you'd be gone
far back east; inside a fourteen story
office building. With slow, recycled air
venting from up above, almost perfect,
how it'd drip like stalactites in a cave,
muffled and moist. Were you not treated well?
On that night I went outside late. And well,
it could have been a dream. My mind was gone
like a bat, fleeing from its brightened cave,
frightened and loathing revealed history.
The forest I wandered in was perfect;
the way the light soaked the leaves in the air-
as bats and birds fluttering in cave air
like fleeting thoughts. I slid down the stairwell
of grass and rock, into dark so perfect
and mocking of the forest that's long gone;
above, like you in the multi-story
complex. Using my lighter in the cave
I saw formations and a drunken cave-
man, whispering softly in the damp air,
Come closer and I'll tell you a story,
flickering hair draped like a mossy well,
over twitching blue-gray eyes, She is gone
now, but a while ago she was perfect.
How, right now, in the light, you are perfect.
He dropped into a pocket of the cave
behind him, and just like that he was gone,
raspy cackles echoing in the air;
my tiny light wavered. I felt unwel-
come in this cave of unspoken stories,
until she faintly whispered her story
under a rock, I used to be perfect…
Her crushed teeth whistled her words pretty well
as her hand reached, clawing the red-stained cave,
fingers tapping her busted teeth. The air
carrying the taps until they were gone.
Stories I heard told from those in the cave
Perfected themselves as the indoor air
Welcomed them out to wherever they've gone.