Sestina

A ridiculously sad description of how I feel about being stuck in halls at Uni. It really isn't this bad...most of the time...but now and then, it gets to you. It's a sestina poem!

We all want to be free.

Yet, to be free, you have to find

a way out. My way out isn’t here.

Believe me, I’ve looked.

“Everybody’s in the same boat” - that must

be why I feel like I’m drowning. I’m sure that there’s more.

 

And yet to assume that there is more,

when I can’t say with complete certainty, is daring. It’s true; nothing is free.

Even freedom. It comes at a price and it must

drive people to insanity to find

that even after they’ve paid their dues, they’re still looked

down on. They’re still criticised. They’re still stuck here.

 

Here.

In a place where they’ve been the best they can, where they’ve strived for more,

where they’ve looked

to the heavens for help. I want to be free

simply so that I can discover a place that’s mine. If I can find

that, then, stay, I must.

 

Here’s me, writing about liberty from a room the size of a cell. It must

be the darkness outside. It’s clinging to my chest. Here,

soon, the sun will rise and I’ll find

relief. No more

will I feel trapped. But daylight plays hand in hand with night. I’m “free”

for those few hours. I’ve looked

 

upon this situation, from every angle. The day taunts me, too. I’ve looked

at other people and asked how they cope. They must

have a strategy, right? Or maybe, to them, this is free.

But until I’m far from here,

I’ll want more and more.

Maybe one day, it won’t be so hard to find.

 

If ever I do find

this place that people have looked

for. I’ll be sure to let everyone know. I don’t want any more

time to be wasted. It must

be around here somewhere �" like when you lose your keys. “Oh, here

they are!” If only. Keep a watchful eye on the future. I’ll be free.

 

If you find it first, you must let me know.

I’ve looked for doorways; “one closes here, another opens there.” My doorways aren’t here.

At present, I feel more defeated than ever. This leaves me hopeful. Perhaps I am closer to being free.

Author's Note

a sestina is a 39 line poem, 6 stanzas, 6 lines each and 3 at the end. The end of each sentence of each stanza rotates 6 chosen words; mine being 'free' 'looked' 'must' 'here' 'find' 'more'. They rotate in a layout that is traditional by sestinas.