Picture is taken from http://totheshore.files.wordpress.com/2010/04/quillpeninkwell1.jpg, courtesy of The Internet. (I seriously hope I don't get sued for that phrase sometime in the future.) It depicts a quill pen and ink, evoking Shakespearean sonnets. These poems are not quite the same as those.Neither of the two poems I'm sharing with you today are exactly what their titles imply.
The first, a "sonnet," happens to be not of love, but of anger and even hate. Also, it is (somewhat mercifully) not directed towards a specific person, as many sonnets—be they romantic or accusatory—are. The second, a "villanelle," is written not in villanelle format, but in sonnet format. It too has a dark tone, though it is the lack of emotional articulation ability, rather than the presence, that lends it this. (It was written to be spoken in a play by an android incapable of feeling.) Grouping the two poems together is thus natural—both are melancholy sonnets that do not quite fit the connotations of their forms.
I seriously hope these poems do not upset you all.
Sonnet & Villanelle
I
do not care for those who make me feel
my
passionate intensity is wrong;
that
gentleness is best, not what is real;
that
one should not sing out one's angry song;
that
natural tranquility should reign;
that
ease of life should be the noblest goal;
that
mercy should fall down like gentle rain;
that
troublemakers should pay their own toll;
that
mildness is a measure of virtue;
that
speaking is a privilege, not a right;
that
each soft lie is better than what's true;
that
your deepest beliefs aren't worth a fight.
For
even though the peacemakers are blessed,
the
ones who thirst for justice deserve rest.
I
told myself I'd write a villanelle
of longing minds and hearts
far, far away,
but other people's tales aren't mine to tell,
and
musings of my own lead me astray.
I hear the ringing of the
mournful knell.
I hear the grievers say the world's gone
gray.
They talk of hopelessness at each farewell,
I cannot
fathom it as well as they.
I don't know how to reach into the
well
where all my deepest lusts and terrors lay,
And now I
think I've gone halfway to hell
and only inner demons hear me
pray...
I told myself I'd write a villanelle.
But other
people's tales aren't mine to tell.
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