Sestinaland

I have finished my sestina, after an unexpected amount of trial and tribulation. Published here for your reading pleasure:

Sound Noises

My eyes feel the sounds of your hands
They shuffle papers and scribble and sigh
And form the clouds’ silent arc
Where they hang in time, prisoners of the wind
And remember the old times, when it was whispered
That cognizance and the sky were silent.

In stillness the moon waned silent
The quiet gripped and rent by the hands
Of some dreadful archaic god, to whom chants echo, whispered
Quietly, and with fear, mingled with enslaved sighs
That stirred up the seeds, and spun into wind
That pushed the moon in its soundless arc.

What wanders on in an endless arc
Shall never find itself, but be silent
While the moans and cries of the wind
Saturate the atmosphere, and it wrings its hands
Upon discovering the skeleton of a sigh
Lying bare where its soul was whispered.

I hear things gently whispered
Rising and following the parabolic arc
Found in a breeze, or a sigh.
Although the air around is silent
I can feel the mumbling of your hands
The agitation about them, like an uncertain wind.

Fear that dreadful, capricious, terrible wind
That crashed against eternity, or softly whispered
The shattered pieces in your hands
Might fit, perhaps, within the mythic arc
Woe, the oracle holds fast to silent
From the lips of wisdom cannot be found a sigh.

The universe perhaps some day shall sigh
And scatter its tears in the wind
Rain that fell silent
Or, falling over water, whispered
Search the skies for that fabled arc
In dreams we shouted and lifted our hands.

But alas, today the sigh is whispered
And the wind, ensnared within its arc,
Falls silent, and is consoled by your hands.

It's reeeeallly long. And I think it's kind of creepy, personally. See what you think. Tell me, do. That's really all I've been doing, besides freaking out. Peace out.