Justin - Soul Sestina

About the writing

I struggled with this both with time to write and with concept. I settled on this idea of the soul expressing itself in art which stemmed from the idea that we are made in the image of the creator. I then balanced “negative” or painful line ending words with “positive” or creative, artistic words.

This allowed the changing meaning through context to be a bit more natural.

I almost redid the martyr stanza. Part of me thinks the idea doesn’t belong here, but the other part of me thinks that the tying of the martyr to the artists is so natural there should be no consideration of removing it.

I like the form. I feel like if I wrote two or three of these it would become natural and finding the balance of voice would be easier. For my first sestina, I’m quite happy.

*no punctuation* 

The Voice of the Soul

From the soul in mourning do I weep

Heeding the dirge the beating heart does sing

Each beat a gush of life outpouring bleed

Each note accented by a shattered cry

The world obscured by harsh black brush stroked paint

In sorrow requiems all that’s left to write

From the soul the poet lyrics write

Emotions through the ink of letters weep

A picture in the chosen verbiage paint

A silent song printed for others to sing

Through careful form he tames his feral cry

In measured words he lets the passion bleed

From the soul the martyr zealous bleed

And know that the historians may write

The righteousness or frailty of their cry

And whether any would at their grave weep

Will we the hymns that they have left us sing

Will we their portraits in the chapel paint

From the soul the artist pictures paint

Passion from palette and his brushes bleed

A hymn to creation by oil and canvas sing

A psalm to the creator by gentle brushstrokes write

Joy in drops of canary yellow weep

Sorrow in streaks of a cerulean cry

From the soul the wordless sorrows cry

The sound that Munch captured in his paint

Too broken to curse too angry to weep

The scream is all that’s left to out bleed

Formed in letters not yet designed to write

Tuneless song of sorrow no voice can sing

From the soul the singers their song sing

In time giving form to sorrows cry

Finding a way the wordless thoughts to write

In tune and glorious beauty sorrow paint

So on the listening ears the voices bleed

Together singer and hearer in chorus weep

Singing the soul seeks out its joy to paint

Crying crimson tears, sorrow on the canvas I bleed

I weep the words in ink my poem to write