A Wickish Coil

Was there a structure to the world tonight
That ruled the details of your last recede?
Was there a pattern which you followed right
Onto this beach where all the stars agreed?
Where underneath their stoic burn your plight
Expired breathless in a gurgled creed?
Was your surrender to their watchful might
Success of fate, or loss of will in need?

Yet while you writhe, accusing circumstance
And tracing demons in a constellation,
Crickets and frogs protest your curse of chance
And pulse a rhythmic, fractal trance.
So consume yourself with indignation,
Your sputtered end won't pause the tide's advance.