Imprisoned clouds, waiting to fly,
Held back by a willowed, sandy bank:
The river, green and clear as an eye.
Its silent depths enticed us to pry.
Into the liquid dungeon we slank,
Imprisoned clouds, waiting to fly.
There we discovered we could scry,
And so greedily we drank
The river, green and clear as an eye.
Our brains ceased to electrify,
Souls fusing with those dank
Imprisoned clouds, waiting to fly.
Now bloated, white, we putrefy,
For we could not outflank
The river, green and clear as an eye.
Deliverer of fate we can’t defy,
But for our new life we thank
Imprisoned clouds, waiting to fly:
The river, green and clear as an eye.
A villanelle from 2022...the first I had written in a very long time.
