This was my aim:
To let grace in this time,
Crescendo-ed, came to rest
On what I stood for.
Grace came and settled where
The dead were heard to call.
The ocean heard my call,
And Neptune took his aim,
Felling cobwebs everywhere
Keeping muffled, echoed time
With ocean waves, crying out for
The hunter to take his rest.
I am pursued, granted no rest
Not I-- for I am the call
Or cry last breathed by the dead for
Which I run, accepting this my aim.
Willing to give all this time.
For I am going, and this is exactly where.
Oh for the grace to go just where
The weary ones may rest
For the hundred thousandth time
I have heard your restless call--
Oh, oceans. It's not my aim
To grant what you call for.
I came to you, therefore,
Seeking solace anywhere.
Hunter, lower your aim
And break not my heart, but the rest.
My end has come at last to call
And I will give in this time.
Grace has pursued and won this time,
Barring what else it came here for.
It won against the ocean's luring call
And hunted and beckoned me to rest.
Bring about the end of this hunt. Where
Have I lost my purpose and my aim?
End the day, for night brings rest;
Call the hunted soul to cease her aim,
For this, here, is where we give in to time.
postscript
DFC day 24. I don't particularly like Sestinas. At least not when I'm rushed to write four poems before midnight. kiwi-damnation.deviantart.com/…