Ill-Fated Triage (Villanelle)

Hope, ill-fated triage for wounds acquired
Along the pathways where we stumbled
In trusting there was a candle in this dark.

Satin finish over bones sheered and cleaved
Blissfully unaware how our filaments crumbled;
Hope, ill-fated triage for wounds acquired.

Insufferable, we who follow so deceived
Heads bowed low to stone; so humbled
In trusting there was a candle in this dark.

Upon a dream in which we once believed
Impossibility; from distant shores rumbled
Hope, ill-fated triage for wounds acquired.

Now, with ache of unconscious soul received
Gazing back to wonder how far we’ve tumbled
In trusting there was a candle in this dark.

How sad, our failing; that which went unperceived
When our conscience yawned and our spirit grumbled;
Hope, ill-fated triage for wounds acquired
In trusting there was a candle in this dark.