A villanelle in amphibrachic tetrameter. The rhyme is a little off but the meter is near spot on. This was a difficult prison of liberation.

 

That lady at nightfall, that terrible beauty,

I yearn, I lay pining, bereft and desiring,

engulfed by her image, she haunts me, she owns me.

 

At night, when it’s dark, she appears so minutely,

voyeur I am not though I stand here admiring

that lady at nightfall, that terrible beauty.

 

Beholding the screen, how my stomach knots tightly,

her eyes look straight through me, my being is sighing,

engulfed by her image, she haunts me, she owns me.

 

My mind is awash with such thoughts, so unsightly,

I bask in her glamour, my being is wanting

that lady at nightfall, that terrible beauty.

 

She knows not of me, it would be so unseemly

to know of a longing that’s born out of nothing:

engulfed by her image, she haunts me, she owns me.

 

A biased contract that I signed so willingly

continues for now, so I’m left here admiring

that lady at nightfall, that terrible beauty,

engulfed by her image, she haunts me, she owns me.

 

JvH

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