If not to grief

I don’t think I’ll write a villanelle
I’ve done the form to death, if not to grief
I  feel like I am flying up a well

I have learned that only victims tell
That time is not a giver but a thief
I don’t think I’ll write a villanelle

I’m feeling poor; I’ve nothing I can sell
I’d better start a newer, fuller life
I  feel like I am spying in a well.

A sonnet is much harder yet they sell.
I realise I could now take a wife;
So I don’t think I’ll write a villanelle

I ponder over Patel’s Israel
Theresa May is getting all the strife
I  feel like I am drowning in my well.

Mortal sin has taken on new life
What about our loss of  love and grace?
I don’t think I’ll write about this hell
The government are fools and lie as well