The Poet Who Sang of Rage and Time

In Laugharne's shadow, Dylan sang of rage and dying light,

His words like thunder rolled across the Welsh-born page,

The poet who made death and darkness burn so bright.

With bottle-breath and vision keen, he wrote through endless night,

Each villanelle a cage of sound, each line a golden cage,

In Laugharne's shadow, Dylan sang of rage and dying light.

He knew the craft of repetition, how refrains take flight,

How form becomes the frame wherein the wild heart can engage,

The poet who made death and darkness burn so bright.

His father's blindness, his own youth, all fuel for second sight,

While tercets turned like prayer wheels on time's relentless stage,

In Laugharne's shadow, Dylan sang of rage and dying light.

The villanelle itself—nineteen lines wound tight,

Two refrains that echo through each stanza, age to age,

The poet who made death and darkness burn so bright.

Thomas knew this form, this dance of sound and structured rite,

Where meaning spirals inward like a bird within a cage,

In Laugharne's shadow, Dylan sang of rage and dying light,

The poet who made death and darkness burn so bright.