That burning image will forever haunt
My mind: within—beyond—my promised land,
Despite my fears, there’s nothing else I want.
—
I think it’s meant to grab my hate, to taunt
My urge to see why all alone it stands.
That burning image will forever haunt
—
My love. She comes to me (yet strangely gaunt)
And bears a gift clenched hard within her hand.
Despite my fears, there’s nothing else I want
—
But what she grips; too innocent to daunt
Me now. I swoon to feel my mind expand
That burning image. Will Forever haunt
—
Me as I rush towards my end? A jaunt
Disrupts; the plants disperse: all turned to sand.
Despite my fears, there’s nothing else I want
—
But this new choice. We erred and sinned to flaunt
Our free will. Though—I’m now alone with her and—
That burning image will forever haunt
Despite my fears—there’s nothing else I want.
I wrote this villanelle four years ago, but I still like it because of the enjambment and punctuation choices which change the “burning image” and desired object in the repeated lines as the poem progresses.
write with lightning 
May 5th, 2010 at 06:09
My favourite: “Will Forever haunt / me?” Cleverly done!
May 5th, 2010 at 07:49
Quite a nice verse…the image you selected also added to the overall interpretation.
May 5th, 2010 at 09:31
have you considered submitting any of your poetry to any notable publications? why not do something bold and try for the new yorker?
i dare you…
http://www.newyorker.com/contact/contactus
May 5th, 2010 at 23:32
I’m glad you guys like it too! Merci bien tout le monde~
105: I tend to submit short stories rather than poetry to calls for writers (I have a piece of creative non-fiction coming out soon in an anthology called Robot Hearts – I’ll be advertising it when the pre-order begins), but I’m not the type to walk away from a poetic dare.
Challenge accepted.
I’ll let you know when I receive my rejection notice 😉
May 6th, 2010 at 09:48
make sure you choose your finest, your deepest, your most intimate creation. we would all be disappointed if you didn’t. 😀
and never give up trying to have your work published. great stories often get rejected many times. like i need to tell you how treacherous the qwerty sea can be.
one of my personal favourites, shirley jackson, got her start with the new yorker. so you never know.