The end arrives without fanfare—no one
scatters ritual words to take back fate.
The dice are rolling, cards drawn—still no one
moves to rearrange the portents—too late
they fail to cohere, fail to integrate
the glimmer in the void with its descent,
the form with its reflected accident.
Maps destroy the future, erase the past
with tangled nows that keel, reorient–
in alloyed flames the dark remains, uncast.
They were born and taken back, surrounded
by places they could never occupy–
left far behind, callously abandoned,
imprisoned in locations without time–
endless words and rules warped to justify
exclusion—hope withholding tomorrow,
wheels turning over in endless sorrow,
a constant shifting into reversal–
running counterclockwise back to zero–
a journey of relentless rehearsal.
For dVerse open link night, hosted by Linda, two somewhat related dizain poems. Dizain is the poetic form for July, introduced to us by Rosemary. I found it a challenge, and have been worrying these words all week.