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Myself, I Do Not Count & Unspoken, Spoken

Summary:

A remix of Love and Hair Dye by WhimsicalEthnographies in two parts: villanelle followed by loosely structured tercets.

Notes:

This remix has been a delight - and so inspiring. WhimsicalEthnographies' story is absolutely lovely, and I urge you to go and read that right now before you do anything else....

Done?
Good! (SO good, amiright??)

The following poems are the first poetry I have written in years, just about, and in my usual indecisive way, I couldn't decide whether I wanted to try my hand at a strict form or something looser - so I did both!
The first is John's villanelle, and the second is what I have taken to calling Sherlock's wounded tercets. If anyone happens to recognise the last poem as an official, existing poetic structure, please let me know - otherwise I will continue calling them wounded tercets all my days :D

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Myself, I Do Not Count

Chapter Text

Myself, I Do Not Count

 

 

Although myself I do not count as vain,

Of our great differences I am aware,

And what if my Love were to think the same?

 

I will admit, the thought has caused much pain,

Physical comparison bringing on despair –

Although myself I do not count as vain.

 

His beauty is such to strike one lame;

My own visage is one much less rare,

And what if my Love were to think the same?

 

Devotion runs deeper than hide and mane

I tell myself when by his touch laid bare –

Although myself I do not count as vain.

 

Always, the world watches due to lust and fame,

Confusing finds disparities in our pair.

And what if my Love were to think the same?

 

This shaded doubt colours me in shame,

As I wonder how one so plain does dare –

And while myself I do not count as vain,

Still, what if my Love were to feel the same?