In this new life, I go to court everyday.
As the world steadily falls apart,
the mercies are too small to sustain.
Evidently, no centre can hold this decay.
So much is lacking: softness, courage, heart –
but in this new life, I go to court everyday.
We are employed in a godless, graceless ballet:
we flounder, we flail, we falter, we restart.
The mercies are too small to sustain.
Once, a whisper: they may suffice. I sift, I weigh,
I reach no conclusion – finding is an art
in this new life. I go to court everyday
and confirm violence is regular, almost stale.
Rarely, relief. Mainly, the need to unlearn, unchart.
The mercies are simply too small to sustain.
We fold hands, petition, appeal, plead, pray:
feathery hope, fainter belief – for the most part.
In this new life, I go to court. Everyday,
the mercies are too small to sustain.
(A villanelle attempt after the hugely enjoyable 'ballroom' by Zefeni from a few days ago)
The repetitions made the poem even more effective for me.
ReplyDeleteHow impressive.. I haven't yet the courage to try this form
ReplyDeleteI really like the subtle reference to "hope is the thing with feathers". The villanelle is such a versatile form for all its rigidity - you've used the refrains so well to portray an unending and repeated task. So much is packed into this poem, wow.
ReplyDelete