Proof that I Hate Sestinas; for the Poetry Scratch Pad |
They say it's humidity not heat But humidity didn't burn The dead fields withering in the sun Waiting for careless fire And humidity doesn't blister Skin or make wax melt. Polar ice will melt They say, in the new heat Seas rise like water in a blister Even the winds burn Our fragile world like fire Like weapons of the sun. No hotter blazes our old sun To make the old ice melt This is human fire It's a greedy heat From hearts of men that burn To beat us till we blister. Sealed like a toy in a plastic blister Into a world that can't escape its sun Are we doomed to burn When hearts don't melt melt In the rising heat Of their own fire? Why can't we fire The idiots who blister Our ears with meaningless heat As if we can't see the sun Or feel the rush of melt Already hot enough to burn? The planet we're cooking is starting to burn The world-system's gun is poised to fire A terminal process of final melt Searing us into one giant blister Circling endlessly round the sun No longer feeling the heat. But where there's heat comes fire And our souls will burn and our words will blister Before the sun sees our resolve melt. |