The Throne of Fate

There is a kind of kneeling that reshapes a man.

Not the kneeling of defeat.

Not the kneeling of spectacle.

The kneeling that happens when the world goes silent and the only voice left is longing.

The Throne of Fate moves through that silence.

The Seer, who once read the future in ash, cannot read his own loss. Institutions forget him. Temples sing and measure and move on. But he remains — twelve dawns beneath an unmoving sky.

Then something shifts.

Whether heaven answered or memory refused to die does not matter. What matters is that he rises differently than he knelt.

This poem does not offer easy consolation. It offers something sterner: devotion that survives disappointment.

Fate is not imposed from the sky.

It is built from what we choose to remember.

Read the full poem and analysis tomorrow 11th: https://alkonda.com/2026/03/11/the-throne-of-fate/