On Losing One's Mind and Self as One Ages: a Villanelle

There is nothing coming but mist.

Where one can see, but not so far:

A fate worse than to not exist.

 

Defiant young clench their proud fists,

When not knowing how naïve they are.

There is nothing coming but mist.

 

But when raped of frail innocence,

Fear’s seed insinuates to mar:

A fate worse than to not exist.

 

Soon thereafter will Change persist,

Feeding the spiteful mental scar.

There is nothing coming but mist.

 

In vain will all try to “subsist,”

But – Forget – ’s fire will the brain char:

A fate worse than to not exist.

 

For Providence holds life’s cruel twist,

And one loses self by the hour.

There is nothing coming but mist:

A fate worse than to not exist.

 

Reviews

[James Paulin]

I enjoyed this poem. It is well crafted and true to its theme. The title could be more enticing and concise but overall...wonderful.