Hey guys, I just finished the first draft of a villanelle. This is a pretty hard form of poetry, so cut me some slack:

Must one confine himself to paper chains,
To stir no longer, silent in his speech?
The world will weary of these senseless strains.

A long and arduous walk down weary lanes,
Or so we’d call what ancient statues preach,
Must one confine himself to paper chains?

So slowly—silent—whisper our refrains,
Our voices stolen, breathing harsh and leached.
The world will weary of these senseless strains.

To carry on our backs our cold remains,
To bind the walk to bones we constant bleach,
Must one confine himself to paper chains?

And on, so bound, we walk, and meaning drains
Into a cup whose edges stay unbreached.
The world will weary of these senseless strains.

What depth or freedom loses, visage gains,
And order is a noble world to reach,
Must one confine himself to paper chains?
The world will weary of these senseless strains.

EDIT #1:
Must one walk fettered by these paper chains,
And stir no longer, silent in his speech?
The world will weary of such senseless strains.

A hushed and arduous hike down step-worn lanes,
Such is the quiet ancient statues preach.
Must one walk fettered by these paper chains?

So, slowly marching, whisper our refrains,
Our voices stolen, breathing harsh and leached.
The world will weary of such senseless strains.

To carry on our backs archaic remains,
To bind the walk to bones the years have bleached,
Must one walk fettered by these paper chains?

And on, so bound, we walk, and feeling drains
Into a numbing jar which can’t be breached.
The world will weary of such senseless strains.

What depth or freedom loses, visage gains,
And order is a noble goal to reach;
Must one walk fettered by these paper chains?
The world will weary of such senseless strains.