Sestina Pain Poems

These Sestina Pain poems are examples of Sestina poems about Pain. These are the best examples of Sestina Pain poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Sestina |
By the river corner I sat and wept
Memories of the war flooding my mind
Imagines of rotting bodies everywhere
The smell of dying children pungent still
Starvation and molestation rampant
How did things degenerate so quickly?

At all turns reality hits me quick
In the gut, so full of the pain I weep
I spy times past when laughter was rampant
Stories about my childhood come to mind
Stories that my wife tells the children still
Of blue skies and green pastures everywhere

In these stories laughter was everywhere
The young ran around full of life, very quick
Young maidens abound then, gentle and still
Men in love at their feet threatening to weep
Gestures of love lived in the young man’s mind
And the giggles of maidens were rampant

Alas now, war cries have become rampant
Snuffing out the lives of men everywhere
Empathy has been vanquished from our mind
As the years pass by children grow quickly
Awakening into the horror, weeping
They seek revenge as bloodlust grows strong still

At last the war is over, all is still
Sadly not laughter but cries are rampant
Mothers, children, fathers, everyone weeps
The smell of decay pungent everywhere 
Spreading diseases and plagues, quickening
The fears and apprehension in our minds

Daily horrible sights assault the mind
And all through the nights we have nightmares still
We awake with a start, screams echo quickly
And all around insomnia is rampant
Bloodshot eyes, frail faces move everywhere
And everyone knows that all night they wept

Quickly I run, tears flowing rampant still
Everywhere I go, lost friends haunt my mind
By the river corner I sat and wept

Copyright © Elizabeth Edemode | Year Posted 2013

Details | Sestina |
Out of the blue; lightning bolt jabs, stabs. Raging storm of vengeance; searing in the night. I feel the horror of the violent tempest. Vile angry tempest; sky of black and blue. A worse horror is a migraine stab. It’s the longest nights, unending vengeance. The eternal vengeance; barbarian tempest; predator of the night; leaves me so blue. It’s jabs and stabs sre a living horror. Horror of horrors! unyielding vengeance. Oh how it stabs; the searing tempest, of blacks and blues; such is a migraine night. Agony’s night, a penetrating horror, singing me blue. A song of vengeance; I feel I’ll die as tempest continues her rabid attack…stabbing. If I could stab her in the night; that rabid tempest; she’d feel the horror of my vengeance. I’d leave her black and blue. Oh how it stabs; that vile, unyielding tempest! Oh the nights of such cold-hearted vengeance. This storm of horror, gives me more than the blues.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sestina |

Standing on a tower, more than three hundred feet
She was watching a movie of her life,
in her head, as tears fall, and she tries to smile
She spread her arms like wings
Tears still falling, but she wants to fly
She closes her eyes, and held her head

Should have known better, her expectations too high
She's someone with two legs but can't stand on her feet
She may have been breathing, but she did not have life
She's undead blend with living, greet them with a fake smile.
And at night when she breaks, she would grasp for her wings
She forgot she was human, and therefore cannot fly.

How she wanted to fly!
More than thousand feet high
Never walk on her feet
And explore her whole life
Maybe then she could smile
She would look for those wings

She'd been hoping for wings
For she wanted to fly
She wanted to be happy, like she's on sugar high
Like someone lift her up, and swept her off of her feet
How she long for it! She wanted that her whole life
She just wanted to be happy, she just wanted to smile. 

But it takes all her strength, just to muster one smile
For all that's left was a set of broken wings
Never better than angels, even worse than a fly.
Always falls at the bottom, and no chance to get high
Always stuck on the ground, with her two broken feet
She was tired of these things, she was tired of this life

There was no one out there who cares for her life
But she tried to be strong, while she wear a fake smile
She cried out for help, but they pulled out her wings
Screaming "Girl, you are human, and therefore cannot fly!"
She know it herself, but is it bad to aim high?
"I will show them," she says, as she ran on her feet

Life, now hanging on a tower, more than three hundred feet
She wears a real smile while she stood way up high
Spread her arms just like wings, took off--- and fly.

Copyright © Julie Anne | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sestina |
Once upon a time, mother was gifted new life.
Reformed, reborn the second child to poverty, 
through the coldness of a Maine winter came beauty.
A fair Eve to her brothers Adam construction
her bloom was destined for a fresh spring being
and her eventual undoing awaits at death.

And, so she was born from the stark darkness of death
and raised on the undone leavings of old life.
Grandma brought bright sunlight with all of her being.
Granddad culled the forest deer to dress their poverty.
A thin walled lake cabin, a homes base construction
housed a family full of fine children’s beauty.

Field and forest with flower and tree were her beauty.
The doe, the buck, the rabbit bought life from their death.
The harshness of this life brought forth angry constructions,
razor strap beatings on small white behinds laced their lives.
Fishing, gardening canning and sewing relieved poverty
In time love came for her dancing into being

The Big One WWII brought my Dad to being
Auburn hair and chocolate eyed was Mom’s beauty
Her handmade clothes sewn with the art poverty
The war had brought them all too close to death
Lovers grasp at the gift they’re given, gifted life
and a new family of country and city was constructed.

Fifty years more , she was given, in this soul construction
tearful years of longing for a different being
with little joy at home, the family of this life
denying the world outside the walls the beauty
not even accepting the end of pain her death
Her gift to me, knowledge, I live not in poverty.

Mom died on a cold wet January day in poverty.
Her poverty was of money and not of love’s construction
at her tidy bed sitting with her hand in mine she died.
“Oh, I wish it were so, and then not, with all my being”
Not all of her treasures gone, for her children’s beauty
remains, their love had not left her throughout her life.

Though in reality Mom lived a short time in poverty being
but the construction of even that poorest plight was always beautiful.
And what is death really once through the pain but rich new life.

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sestina |

I hide behind a  crooked smile.
Many times I would rather cry.
I feel as if I have no friends.
Ignored by my family.
Trampled on by those I most Love.
My life filled with Pain.

My life filled with Pain.
So long since I wore a smile.
I pretend I don't love.
I try hard not to cry.
Where are my Family?
Do I have any friends?

I used to have friends.
My life filled with Pain.
I need my Family.
I fake a lonely smile.
I refuse to Cry!
I am searching for love.

Do you seek someone to Love?
Do you search for friends?
Are those tears that you cry?
My life filled with pain.
I would like to see you smile.
Don't you have a family?

We can't always count on Family.
Some don't know how to Love.
They don't notice that you don't smile.
It's hard to count on Friends.
My life filled with  Pain.
They might notice if you cry.

So many times, alone I cry!
I hide it from my loving Family.
My life filled with pain.
I shower them with Love.
I hide it from my friends.
I show them all my crooked smile.

I cry silently for their Love.
My busy family and friends.
My Pain hidden behind my smile.

Copyright © Patricia Sawyer | Year Posted 2008

Details | Sestina |
Folding and embracing someone in extreme pain
with the compassion of a merciful saint:
when those moribund eyes look downward,
as breath becomes heavy and life can't sustain
its heartbeat , but those hands are too weak to clasp;
give your last gift, say the softest word...

Comfort and be comforted when the final hour comes for all,
when a person suddenly dies, a conceived baby will be born;
it's a cycle that keeps our human race from extinction:
observe the animal kingdom, never inactive or slow,
even trees and flowers duplicate themselves in jollification 
by the kindness of every wind of the actual season...

Folding and embracing someone in extreme pain,
someone of a different race, not making distinction of color;
everyone of us is a beautiful and perfect creation of God,
so let the same love flow and leave your prejudice beyond:
see through the eyes of charity, never divide and compare:
the uniqueness of an individual can be shared by all...   

The greed and wickedness of Mankind can't control the relentless rush,
until immense harm is done:  wars are fought and lives are lost by the thousands,
and the spilling of blood is not regarded as guilt on their remorseless hands,  
many weeping mothers lean over their dead children, with more viable in their wombs:
summon the evil man to the Almighty God whose judgement is harsh,
and be assured that the Divine Justice will make them toss in their inescapable tombs...

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009