An Interlocking Rubaiyat born of a photo I’d forgotten about. Technically, my rhymes are pentameter and I’ve followed the rhyme scheme, but my actual meter is a warmed-over mess. Visual prompt from a photo I took weeks ago.
Title: Cursive
WC: 84
Stop with me, there’s the touch of knuckles here.
Curve, cells. Bend your heads together. Draw near.
Wait for rain to fall. Tomorrow, we’ll see
that the bones have rolled; there’s no point in fear.
One surface ripples, true and lazily
conversant. Those brave enough to see
a contretemps of violins entwined.
Here, harmony battles with destiny.
This cannot be news to those left behind
to steel themselves to everything unkind
In this too-persistent world. Yet the page
will turn, its alabaster will enshrined.
MTZQ Telecommuniculturates 