Like a blackjack marathon
Till she finds the one that fits
The finer details of her fable.
Temperance, strength, and the high priestess
All worthy of her essence
But the deck lacks the guarantee
Of fulfilled dreams and desires.
She returns opened cartons of crystal balls
Time and time again to the Seers shoppe
For lousy reception even with rabbit ears,
Arguing with sages and soothsayers
About the missives of misfortune.
The mystics rally in their defense
Raging that the royal road
As ridden by Madelaine
Does not lead outward to divinity
But rather inward to cartography
Of how she became the means
Rather than the end.