A SESTINA From the start, we are thrust into light, Embodying the purity that innocent children may, And never experience a moment alone. We enjoy the spectacle of the rain, And the freedom of playing in the streets; We request, and the world answers. But then comes a time when there are no answers, And in walking through busy streets, One can't help but feel alone. And the fire within us which we light, As arsonists and sufferers and people may, Keeps us trudging through heavy rain. But in times of clearer skies and no rain, During the breezy warm days of May, It's inconsequential if we're alone, And though we'll never know the answers, We find ourselves turning on better streets That replace our fire with pure light. Again, the beauty of life will shed its light, Like running free through city streets, Fueled by ardor and passion alone; Or like kissing hard in pounding rain, Just as lustful young lovers may: A celebration of all the answers. But it's from the self that come these answers-- A product of previous dismay, That in our time we spend alone, We find honest darkness in the light, And in walking down those dreary streets, We're open to teachings of the rain. We are the kingdoms of which we reign. We travel by our chosen streets. We, all together, will always be alone And receive no sympathy for lack of answers, But burning, and twisting and turning as we may, I pray that we are consumed by light. Through streets of ruthless rain and fiery light, It is the balance between these alone That may lead us to our answers.