Villanelle

I never asked your soul to be my light.
My request was not in asking but in mocking.
I guide my feet with my own voice and dim-lit sight.

No mortal could attain your Himalayan height,
Not in study or fervent begging, praying.
I never asked your soul to be my light.

No angelic wing could glide in similar flight,
Nor heavenly hymn match crystalline-note singing.
I guide my feet with my own voice and dim-lit sight.

What hammer-fall could prove your acts but right?
Earthly authority will never attain just judging.
I did not ask your soul to be my light.

Though thunder rages are your perceived slight,
My mortal hands refuse the self-wrought wringing.
I guide my feet with my own voice and dim-lit light.

For all the illusions by which you paint yourself sun-bright,
At the clarion call you'll feel the trap door falling.
I never asked your soul to be my light.
I guide my feet with my own voice and dim-lit sight.

(Closed form is European Villanelle)