Sestina

One day I spread my palm Out to the powers that be And asked for a friend (or love) Who would know me inside out Love me for who I was And be there when I needed a helping hand. It rained that day on this hand On my arm, on my palm As I stood there in foolish hope that there was A power that would be Willing to drag me out Of my misery, with a friend (or love). Is there such a friend (or love)? Is there peace, is there deliverance at hand? Is there a way out? Is there hope in the lines of my palm? Is there one who will not let me be Till I am again what I once was? Once upon a time, there was I remember, no need for a friend (or love) 'Cause I was as happy as one could be Happiness had held my hand And love traced patterns on my palm What needed I care when all evils the door kept out? Now that door is shut, and I am out What no longer is, is but a dream that was Like the rain water that dried on my palm Like the tears that missed a friend (or love) I could only miss what no longer was in my hand What no longer is, and never more will be! "What will be will be will be": At long last the secret is out! What then do I do with this begging hand In which still lingers the touch that once was? No hope then... is there? for a friend (or love)? Only pain! Whiplashes of pain on this wretched palm! Why then foolish, hopeful hand do you gaze on the future's 'To Be' And bare your palm to the harsh world without? Come away, forget what was, come away, there is no friend (nor love)!