a Villanelle lamenting

I'm lamenting the sad fact I'm not bright
and the necessity of notes I keep
of all the things passing for my small writes,

tormented at this unfathomable sight
of my jumbled notes breaks me down to weep
and lament at the fact I am not bright.

as I struggle to bring these into light
confusion with notes starts to quickly creep
in all my work I sadly call a write,

I've reached, like Icarus, for greater heights
and my tears are now that watery deep
in lamenting that I'm not very bright,

I should stay childlike and as child write trite
as the doubt in me now so deeply seeps
for all the things I pass as my small writes.

again and again lamenting my plight
i am now unable to even read
(in lamenting that I am not quite bright)
the things I present as my little writes.