This is a villanelle I wrote about how terrified I've been as I enter adulthood while my parents age. Its one of the most personal things I've ever written.

The Villanelle is my favourite form in poetry and the themes of this poem are what I explored in my first ever poem too.

That combination kimd of makes this my favourite poem ever. Despite this not being a very typical Sylvia Plath poem as it is much more personal than most of her works.

Upon the hill, a tower stands, With iron roots deep in the lands, Its shadow creeps, it grows, it twists, A looming giant in the mists.

The flame once bright upon its peak, Now flickers, faint, forlorn, and weak. The hands that fed it, turned to stone, The whispers cold, a heavy throne.

Beneath the sky of ash and rain, The iron gates now seal the plain, The fields once green, the rivers wide, Lie chained beneath a tyrant's stride.

The flame once bright upon its peak, Now flickers, faint, forlorn, and weak. The heart that held the sacred spark, Lies shattered in the rising dark.

A crown of glass, a sword of gold, Promised warmth, yet left us cold. The echoes of a father’s cry, Now fill the air where spirits fly.

The flame once bright upon its peak, Now flickers, faint, forlorn, and weak. The father's hands, the tower's stone, One crushed beneath, the other grown.

But in the dark, a spark may rise, A hidden ember in disguise. Though towers fall and kings may burn, The flame will find its time to turn.

The flame once bright upon its peak, Now flickers, faint, forlorn, and weak. Yet from the dust, a new fire’s glow, Shall burn where shadows dared to grow.

New to this, would love any and all feedback, particularly any critique. Thank you.