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A Stretch
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Villanelle A week is nothing but a stretch of time.
It stands, it stretches, arches to a height
but never can it ever find sublime.
To some it seems a riddle to define,
this span so simple, subtly brought to light;
a week is nothing but a stretch of time.
To others, deeply, happily entwined,
to make so little of it seems not right -
but never can it ever find sublime.
Unfortunate for both, this darkling wire
debases and delineates the fight;
a week is nothing but a stretch of time.
These dual troubles hiding in our rhyme
are masks; in truth and ignorance they crown our sight,
but never can we ever find sublime.
We look to futures freezing in the night,
and fool a sage twist in supposed might.
A week is nothing but a stretch of time
and never can it ever find sublime.
