Hi, all. This is a sestina about Duo. ^_^ I posted it on gw-fan, so sorry if anyone gets this twice. This is only my second attempt at a sestina; the first one was too awful to see the light of day. This one is interesting, though, and I rather like it. It has rather a cutter mentality which I think is interesting for Duo. I don't necessarily see him as this twisted angstpot, but this is how the poem came out.
He dreamed mostly of death --
not a surprise. Abandoned by God
as he was, brighter dreams were not his, and roiling
nightmares
were the best he could hope for. No savior
could ever pass by him in the night to give him joy.
It was a sensation most passing wondrous strange,
to be so throughly ignored. Once he had not been a
stranger
to good dreams, but how long had that lasted? Perhaps
a month before
Death
made its presence known and shattered his joy
again. That was when his hesitant faith in God
had crumbled. The Church was not his savior,
it was only the dark stuff that would fill his
nightmares.
Being fifteen years old was a nightmare,
he felt forty, weighted down by destruction and love
and strange
things like his desperate search for a savior.
He would not give in to his enemy. Death
would never have him, but then again, neither would
God
and so was he doomed. Utterly devoid of joy,
he hung in limbo like a dead-eyed puppet. His smiles
were furious
mockeries of joy.
He knew that he wasn't alone when he wandered his
nightmares,
but that didn't help, it only enraged him because how
could God
be that cruel, let some hapless dreamer stumble into
his private
strangeness?
His pain was his alone and he would NOT share them
with any would-be
savior.
The tang of pain that spiked his life alone was real,
and it alone
saved
him from humiliating surrender. In testing his limits
till he
threatened to break he found joy.
He wanted to know how close he could dance to Death
and yet remain free, how many nightmares
he could make real and yet stay sane, how many times
he could fake joy
and yet know the ache that came from having God
look away from you. His loneliness was an antithesis
of God,
and he cherished his loss of favor, made it his
savior.
He was alone above the rest, perpetually in unique,
vibrant and
strange
pain, a violence of emotion that blossomed like a
bruise into joy,
and his only medals of honor were his nightmares,
so he folded in upon himself, and smiled at his
friends, and bled,
and laughed at Death.
God probably did not approve of his red and black joy.
Saviors were hard to come by, though, and all he had
were his
nightmares,
strange and torturous and beautiful. Loneliness was
triumph because
it was not Death.