Thursday, July 24, 2014

a villanelle for these days

The fire kindles, starts to burn-
the wood is wet and smoky sputters
the things that I have yet to learn

My heart is broken but still it yearns
my tongue is clay and barely stutters-
the fire kindles, starts to burn

Every table overturned
turning towers into clutter
the things that I have yet to learn

Nobody's pain is lost or spurned
the broken dove begins to flutter
the fire kindles, starts to burn

A wild fire, grace unearned
the silent breathe and start to mutter
the things that I have yet to learn

I cannot teach or even warn
sourest milk to sweetest butter
the fire kindles, starts to burn
the things that I have yet to learn