Psimon Posted May 30, 2003 Report Posted May 30, 2003 - my first attempt at a Sestina Remain ****************** The winter winds chill me to my very my bones, beat against my squinted eyes and leave my fingers numb while inside my mind races ahead to the next post, ever keen to stay alert, or at the very least, alive. Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood my children keep my heart from death's cold door. O what brings such foul news to my door? It rattles this sorry collection of bones, stirs the soul and boils the blood though this dark messenger leaves my mind numb as I struggle for answers. Anything to stay alive for one moment more, here at my post. Death comes to me, standing here at post upon the field, knocking 'pon the Devil's Door, as all around me my comrades, those still alive after the last assault, take shelter amongst the bones of those of us who have not seen the dawn. Numb they may be; yes, and weary, but they still hold blood. And while they hold fast - retaining what blood has not seeped from their many wounds onto letters they post home with more regularity than their battle-numb minds would warrant possible - they'll hold this door to the East. This they swear upon the bones of their fallen brothers. They will stay alive! But here and now, that is my only task, to remain alive. For Evil's fallen forces would have my blood upon their weapons, upon their breath, upon their bones. To them I am but another obstacle, another post they must pass as their masters beat upon the door of their hearts and minds, battering them till they too are numb. Unfeeling, uncaring, brutish. Once men, now numb shells of men, driven forward. Theirs is not to stay alive but to die for their master's cause, to open the door that leads to Hell and Damnation, awash with their blood and, such a dreadful sight to behold, paved from pillar to post with the very marrow they spilt, seeping from their bones. White, sickly, scoured clean of flesh from bones that lie on this path. Yes, my mind is now numb as my weapon falls to the ground at my post, this one last mission a failure. Am I no longer alive? Blood of my flesh and flesh of my blood falls about me, covering the field and 'round about the door. Will I step through the door, leaving my numb flesh and broken bones to soak in the spilt blood upon the field? Or will I stand at post, turn my heart towards home, and stay alive?
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