[September the Twenty-Fourth] [Original] And in the silence of the dawning

[mythicbeast.livejournal.com]

Title: And in the silence of the dawning
Day/Theme: September 24: Almost gothic
Series: Original
Character/Pairing: Him, Her. It's Palomir and Gale, but really, it could be anyone.
Rating: G
Summary:
A/N: SESTINA, BEYOTCHES. SESTINA. WOOT. And if you didn't know already, this is what a sestina is, in technical terms.



Her features glow golden in the morning sunlight,
The way her lips purse reminds one, somehow, of a leaf
Pinched corners turned up in the ghost of a smile.
Ladylike indeed! But should you hit a nerve
By implying that she or her friends are quite loose,
You won't live long enough to see her temper in action!

She is named after wind; she's a woman of action,
Though like a child she delights in the dusktime sunlight.
She reigns o'er zephyrs as she sets her kites loose,
Yet in the grand schemes of others, she is merely a leaf,
To be tugged hither and yon. By the gods, what nerve!
The arrogance of these pigs, that beguile with a smile!

And yet all she wants is the sight of his smile,
She teases and taunts, hope in each action,
But alas, not unafraid. Still she steels her nerve
And vows one day they will dance in the dawning sunlight.
Until then she will bend, as the storm bends a leaf,
But this storm shall never shake her faith loose!

It's often said that a woman's tongue is loose,
That often they will lie, often with a smile.
Their eyes coy as they duck behind some fresh novel's leaf,
Playing all for fools. But she truly means each action!
Her heart's in all her work, her honesty like sunlight,
Beating down on indifference, pressing to each nerve.

She reaches forth towards others, but loses her nerve.
Her ghosts are banished, but will she e'er be truly loosed?
She screws up her eyes against the noontime sunlight,
The one lie she's told is "I'm fine." -- with a smile.
Her companion looks up, echoing the action,
While she shreds in her hands a wilted old leaf.

Her eyes brook no protest as she presses the leaf
Against his lips; in her fingers there's a fire in every nerve.
She quashes it sternly, dictates the next action,
"Blow," and he does! Surprised at the sound it lets loose,
He looks up, askance, she responds with a smile,
And they sit there together, in the golden sunlight.

Responding as her nerves dictate, each instinctive action,
In the giving of smiles she's perhaps a tad loose.
She grows and turns in love, as leaves may grow and turn in sunlight.



I'm not a poet.
Don't worry, I know it.