Monochromes and Metronomes

Wrote my first Villanelle for AP Literature. Here it is!

I see the world in monochrome.

I feel the world in devotion.

I hear the world in metronome.

One color put to use in and out of home

to keep the norm and cause no commotion.

I see the world in monochrome.

A metrical tick tick, unfree to roam

from the synchronized, fixed pulse and motion.

I hear the world in metronome.

Varying the hues, unafraid of the single color home

base; each tint, tone, and shade is a brand new notion.

I see the world in monochrome.

Staccatos and legatos played - resonating within the dome

with crescendo and diminuendo - orderly, yet filled with emotion.

I hear the world in metronome.

In one, continuous, permanent sight and sound tomb,

are variations unknown and new found depth set in motion.

And I still see the world in monochrome.

And I still hear the world in metronome.

Feather of a Rainbird

Pitter patter comes the sound of the rainbird

Landing upon your porch and roof and sidewalk

Splish splash their wings taking off heard

Only to perch a few seconds away to taunt and mock

What is this contradictory creature

Untamed by any intruder?

No tangible scales, hair, or fur

These feather light touches are even falser

This bird come here and again

Migrates with the wind and breeze

Clouds are their homes at every bend

Shifting and morphing with such ease

Why do they carry such sounds of sorrow?

I cannot answer because I know not the trill

I only hear the cheery pitter patter and chilly blow

Of wind that brought them near my windowsill

Why do they come during the gloomiest of grays?

I would not be certain as I watch only their flight and descent

Accompanied with a splish splash and feathered spray

That never seems to get neither damaged nor bent

In my hand, I try to lift a gentle feather

But with me it cannot seem to stay

Out of my hand, it continues to flutter

To meet with its companions til the arrival of rays

So adaptive to the minds and ambiances

Environments, habitats, and realities it creates

Real is only what it is and becomes as it dances

And the swirls of color and lack of it baits

The symphony and silky feather touch lure

But run your hands through and it’ll keep steady path

Trickle, drip, drop, flood – always part pure

So light and trance fulfilling, yet pounding full of wrath

A feather of a rainbird like any feather

Tickles soft and lands with an unmatchable flow

But is a pound of feathers to a pound of rocks any lighter?

Time to meet your rainbird and let your pattern show