Here’s a sestina I wrote when 15, just starting out in the Air Cadets…
The Kataphrakt
The Kataphrakt mounts his noble steed,
Basking in his new-found inward glory;
The shield he carried glowed with flame,
His spear emanated gold.
Saying his prayers to his god and his King.
Eager: for the blood, the valour, the charge.
And as he pondered on the pain of charge,
He pierced the innocent eyes of his steed.
His faith was veering from that of his King.
And as he doubted the eternal glory,
And turned his burnished spear of gold;
He thought of the death, the pain, and the flame
And in the forge he saw that same flame;
The same flame ever-present in charge.
His once-bright glaive now a tarnished gold.
He saw the stable and grieved for his steed,
As abjectity and death yields no glory.
His mind was set on serving his king.
He roared out the charge, the omnipotent king
Called on the horse and chariot to flame
And ruin to serve his desire of glory.
The horse and the foot and all of the charge.
The Kataphrakt rides his valorous steed
With his armour that glowed with a passion of gold.
There was no more of that shimmering gold,
Gone; was the cowardly king
Shadow did not spare, even the steed.
Of the men; they all fell to the flame
Everything fell; to the futile charge,
That drained all men of any glory
And it was nearly all gone that glory
All hope lost of returning to gold.
But left for the men there was one last charge,
In the name of the effulgent king.
The last of the men averted the flame
And returned home; with bloodied spear and steed
The impetuous gallop of the steeds in flame
The transcendent glory of the craven king
The charge that was golden, no more.
Outrageously Liberal 