Would you think me to go gently, knowing what I know,
while the lightning strikes so far from here?
{Villanelle, O Villanelle}
But a riddle, evidently, is poetry in Hell,
and the answer's always far from clear.
{Villanelle, O Villanelle}
Is the measure of a man all that slips from out your hand
while you're waiting for your life to turn around?
For the measure of your life
falls from one edge of the knife,
and from the other fall the years upon the ground.
{Villanelle, O Villanelle}
From the moment we stop burning,
One angel knows the sound
of a soul that's giving up the fight.
{Villanelle, O Villanelle}
Do we leave or keep returning to another patch of ground
just to rage against the dying light?
{Villanelle, O Villanelle}
Is the measure of a man all that slips from out your hand
while you're waiting for your life to turn around?
For the measure of your life
falls from one edge of the knife
and from the other fall the years upon the ground.
{Villanelle, O Villanelle}
