NaPM April 23 2015

[bena]

as a foreword, I would like to say that there were much easier definitions or concepts I could have chosen, but I went for the challenge.  Don't judge me too harshly, this is a first attempt.



Villanelle

My hands are drenched in tepid red.
I clutch my sweaty pen in palms.
This paper cuts thoughts in my head.

Though rhyme and I have never wed,
I've never faced it with such qualms.
My hands are drenched in tepid red.

A hope keeps surging, though I've bled,
that words I spew might be a psalm.
This paper cuts thoughts in my head.

I don't remember what I've said,
the tickling wind, it seems to calm-
my hands are drenched in tepid red.

My heart's still drumming with great dread.
I'm looking for a cleansing balm.
My hands are drenched in tepid red.
This paper cuts thoughts in my head.