It was an awful day for the mage who felt himself flare up with rage since he couldn’t cast a single spell, when along strolled a wandering bard casually singing a cheerful song while fiddling with a magic shard. He glanced up, and stored the shard away from the lingering eyes of the mage with nary a pause in his lilting song, which merely fueled the building rage that was now directed at the bard for who was he to have the component of a spell? He stealthily-ish crept behind for a spell, hand extended to steal the shard boldly from the pocket of the bard, who looked over his shoulder at the mage, his jolly countenance drifting to rage as he stopped and paused his song. “That was an interesting song,” the mage sputtered, knowing this could spell danger for him, and the confused rage in the bard subsided to merely a shard of what had been aimed at the mage who still stood awkwardly behind the bard. “I composed it myself,” bragged the bard as he whipped out a lute to accompany the song to the alarm of the startled mage who endured being serenaded for a spell while he still longed for the shard. It still seemed to him an outrage that it wasn’t his. So swelled his rage that he snarled at the bard to hand over the magic shard. The bard’s eyes narrowed, and his song swelled with the magic of a spell that he wove around the flustered mage. So the shard that had caused such rage captured the mage at the will of the bard whose song carried the magic of a spell.
This poem was inspired by the Sunday writing prompt from Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie: poetic justice.
The poetic form that I used is a sestina.