Stubborn Words (Sestina)

My pregnant psyche labors over words and somber fetuses embalmed in ink. A restless scribble knots my burdened nerves with these encrypted ciphers I can't grasp. Interpretations drip from severed tongues, absurd perceptions form a distant mood. My prying, inquisition probes my mood with midnight sockets strained on anxious words. Judicial eyes echo in hollow tongues as condemnation blots out ink with ink. The choreography beyond my grasp, and too much cursive panic braids my nerves. A juxtapose of hope and doubt lace nerves to uttered oaths that constipate my mood and steal coherent visions from my grasp. Yet still, I itemize all of my words and weigh them each as if more valued ink could form a lexis between paper tongues. Cacophonies amassed on corded tongues are stretched out over sapped and springless nerves no longer seeking sense from contoured ink. A conquered revelation stirs my mood as scrawled ideas seem only wasted words just loose impossibilities to grasp. But, Ah! Defeat has never felt the grasp of proud, defiant pens or styptic tongues and I have never knelt before my words or gave into a desperate play on nerves. I forge from pathos-strands that strike a mood translating patterns born of crisscrossed ink. My muse cannot be humbled by the ink nor pen that consecrates a poets grasp. It cannot cringe beneath a vicious mood or beg for mercy from those cryptic tongues. My style depends upon elastic nerves that stretch around the depth of single words. Frustration spilled the ink and tied the tongues, my mind froze in its grasp and strained my nerves but no mood intercepts my stubborn words.