Evolution
Hello everybody! So as you know, I write a lot and this past May in school, we wrote Tritinas and Sestinas. If you don't know what they are, there's this thing called Google. Go educate yourself. JK! (Rowling) I didn't mean to sound snarky. A Tritina is a mini version of a Sestina but there are three stanzas of three lines and a. final line. So, there are ten lines total. The three stanza's use the same three ending. words in a pattern. Now what if a Sestina you ask? A poem with six stanzas of six lines and a final triplet, all stanzas having the same six words at the line-ends in six different sequences that follow a fixed pattern, and with all six words appearing in the closing three-line envoy. But who really needs to know all that? Let's just say that it is a poem and I wrote one and I wanted to share it with you guys. (Sorry that its really long) It's called Evolution.
Standing there in the dew-covered grass, watching the wishes
whispered into dandelion fluff float by, the warm
rays of the almost-summer sun reminds me of times almost forgot. Memories
of bubbles and ice pops dripping in the sweltering heat, of picking violet, cerulean, and honey colored flowers.
The chipper birds in the trees sing their lighthearted melodious masterpieces: the genre of music
that sends my heart soaring. I breathe in all that surrounds me as I stare into the never-ending, perfect sky.
But even though it all seems marvelous, without flaw, there will not always be a never-ending, perfect sky.
In a single moment, there will be no more anything, and not even the deepest wishes
can save the beauty as we see it. All shall fade away to a ravenous nothingness in which there is no escape. Music
will no longer be heard, only the deafening silence of what is left. And what will be left? The warm
sun won’t dare shine it’s face upon the day, for it is tired and leaves its job to the ice cold moon. Flowers
wilt away, and all the things that we cherish shall become faint memories.
If we try very hard, we can nearly smell the memories
that we have lost in the chaos of the world around us. Smell the freshly cut grass as we lay and stare at the sky,
smell the honey-suckles in our mother's gardens, the fragrance of the flowers
has the power to send us back in time. Can you still remember the wishes
that we made upon stars once upon a time? Long, long ago? Do they bring you warmth
and hope? Are you one of the lucky ones? Do the birds still sing for you their music?
Now in that single moment that we can no longer see the beauty, feel the sun, or hear the music,
when we fear that all is lost, and all we have left are hope and memories.
In the darkness, something warm
grows and glows, a new awakening to the life we knew before. We see a light and we see that it is the sky!
Answered are our deepest wishes.
The darkness that once ensnared our minds, the being that we saw as hideous, has blossomed into graceful flower.
The wilted and once forgotten flower
has matured into something strong and beautiful, something that everyone admires. A different music
begins to play, a melody that we can dance to. New wishes
are whispered to loved ones, as magical dandelion fluff becomes yet another memory.
We stare awestruck into the soft crimson sunset instead of the pure sky.
And just to hold someone's hand is enough to keep us warm.
Even though we move on from that old life, it is impossible to forget the warmth
of the almost summer sun, picking the golden buttery flowers
from the soft meadows, gazing at the whimsical puffy shapes in the sky.
Now our life has taken a different turn, and yet the birds still sing their music.
But not for us. No. We are a simple memory
to them. They sing for the children who upon dandelions whisper their wishes.
We can still feel the warm glow of the sun on our arms, we can make as many wishes as we please.
Memories are meant to to be made, all we have to do is dare to make them. Simply plant the flower of life and watch it grow.
We can still hear the faint music of when we were young and see the wonder in the skies, but only through the eyes of a child.
So I hope you liked it, but you can feel free to hate it as much as you want in the comments below! :) Anyway, what do you think my poem is about? Please tell me, I love feedback!
~Ciao!
