Villanelle

When I write poetry, I usually don't follow any form. I mean, I want my poems to rhyme; in fact, I think the best poetry is that which rhymes. But other than that, I just usually let it rip. However, form is, or at least can be, important. One form of poem is the villanelle. Basically, a villanelle is a poem with two rhyming refrains, which appear over and over again as the poem progresses.

So in one of the most famous villanelle's, Dylan Thomas' "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night," the lines, "Do not go gentle into that good night" and "Rage, rage against the dying of the light" serve as the villanelle's two alternating refrains.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

I mention all of this because recently I thought I would try my hand at writing a villanelle. My composition is below. I hope you enjoy it.

"Now I Know I Laid Wreaths at Your Feet" 

Now I know I laid wreaths at your feet
Though there were a few times I was out of my mind 
Now I know I was not incomplete. 

Now I know that you were the heat 
Though there were a few times I believed in your lies
Now I know I laid wreaths at your feet. 

Now I know the word "hurt" and "mistreat."
"Unfair," "denied," "unfair" and "unkind." 
Now I know I am not incomplete. 

Now I know how I was in deep 
Though I felt with my heart and saw with my eyes 
Now I know I laid wreaths at your feet. 

The heat, the heat, the heat, the heat 
You were the one from fire who cried. 
Now I know I was not incomplete. 

Now, alone, the rustling leaves 
I hear and see, past clouds to the sky
Now I know I laid wreaths at your feet 
Now I know I am not incomplete.