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Deep breath in - dep breath out. I happen to be very fond of the pattern-poem style called the pantoum. The pantoum's pattern is far more obvious than that of the sestina, however, I'll explain it here.
The pantoum consists of four verses, each of four lines. Each verse is formed of two lines from the previous verse and two new lines, except the last verse, which uses the two unrepeated lines from the first verse. The lines may be changed - slightly - as done in this work, or used unadulterated. Sometimes, a concluding couplet is used. The following is the pattern, with each line numbered:
This particular poem hearkens to a particular problem of mine - I have a vast difficulty in showing weakness. For one thing, I tend not to shed tears. Particularly not where anyone can hear or see it.
The most dramatic instance of this is somewhat referred to in this poem. I was, and had been for two weeks, alone - a person who I love dearly, and still claim to owe what little there is of my sanity to, had had to go home after our one week 'together'. I had not cried.
There was a dance - these things happen. I went to bits of it, drifting in and out like a ghost, until the music happened to cycle to a particular song, which always reminds me of him. (I tend to do this - songs develop very important conenctions to me; see Questing for Aleph above.)
I listened to the song, and then I fled. It was pouring rain, so the dance had been held in the Franklin and Marshall College gymnasium. I ran down and around the paths into the quad, and I let the rain wash over my face.
I could cry then - because nobody would hear over the rain, and nobody would see the streaks on my face. It was a very... revealing moment. 'Crying to the rain' is one of my metaphors, now.