Lucky Dip, poetry

The Youth and Senior Citizens

Writing a poem in the Villanelle poetry form, at least for me, was a brain exercise.  Yet, I need  a brain workout today!   
Mindlovemiserymenagerie posted instructions on how to write a Villanelle.
A Villanelle is a nineteen-line poem consisting of a very specific rhyming scheme: aba aba aba aba aba abaa.
The first and the third lines in the first stanza are repeated in alternating order throughout the poem, and appear together in the last couplet (last two lines).   You can read a great example on their post by clicking here.

My humble attempt can be read below.
I was hoping to express how those of us who are considered to be SEPTUAGENARIAN OR OLDER really feel inside our souls.  


The youth will never engage   
That our souls will never get old
Upon arriving at old age

Inside — Seniors feel caged
The aged will uphold
The youth will never engage

We old citizens feel as if onstage
Not at all controlled
Upon arriving at old age

We imagine; deem not changed
We can dance and feel quite bold
The youth will never engage

Our thinking never disengaged
We are as if thirty-three years yet untold
Upon arriving at old age

The truth of the soul will never assuage
To one who hasn't reached what fate molds
The youth will never engage
Upon arriving at old age   

dVerse, poetry

Villanelle Poetry —A View of Today’s World

A Villanelle, poetry form encouraged through dVerse.

 

God’s world in ruin, yet the sky still blue.
The current status well thought out;
Storm and counterfeit, that’s what we’ll do.

He watches from above, the perfect view
Man’s hellish plan; He laughs as they scheme.
God’s world in ruin, yet the sky still blue.

First, hush and block those who speak true
Kill their God, mute the good.
Storm and counterfeit, that’s what we’ll do.

God’s world in ruin, yet the sky still blue.
Black is now white, while white is black.
God smiles as His faithful carry through.

Work harder, conceal, quiet the few
Their voice must be stilled at any cost.
Storm and counterfeit, that’s what we’ll do.

We can’t stop now, but God who knew
Their game was finished before it began.
Sinking wrangling words — despair and spew
Storm and counterfeit, that’s what we’ll do.