DMAIC Rite

The Priest reads the Charter aloud
At the Registry threshold, avowed.
The ticket ID’s name,
Transforms noise to same,
And naming converts it to crowned.

“We call the gap by its true name,
We bind the scope to the frame,
We do not fix yet,”
The chant, and beset,
And the problem becomes now a claim.

The Gatekeeper walks every aisle,
The Scribe marks the orphans each while.
Visible, shadowed, denied,
The tally’s applied,
And the metric read aloud with a smile.

Visible: they answer when called,
Shadowed: they answer enthralled,
Denied: they don’t speak,
And the ritual’s meek,
And the litany’s ritual enthrall’d.

The Archivist lays down the Shift
Over Charter Scroll to lift.
Each fracture’s a line,
A lineage divine:
Human, system, or ritual drift.

A sigil for each breaking source,
For human lapse, system course,
Ritual omission,
Each gets precision,
Pinned to the ledger’s discourse.

The ritual spawns more filings than fixes,
Each improvement gets archived with frixes.
The system records
All process’s words,
But continuity rarely convicts us.

If the metrics threaten continuity’s line,
The ritual escalates the design.
To COMA it goes,
Where process still throes,
And the filing’s the actual spine.

The Priest is provisional, dressed
In the margins of better and blessed.
The ceremony preserves
What the process deserves:
A ritual that files like the rest.

The metrics are chanted aloud,
Each number becomes a crowd.
The improvement’s a rite,
The filing’s done right,
And continuity bows to the loud.

If metrics threaten to slide,
If continuity’s put to the side,
The ritual escalates high
To COMA’s demise,
Where process and rest coincide.

The ritual spawns more forms than repairs,
Each improvement adds burdens and cares.
The system records
All process’s words,
But continuity rarely compares.

The Mender threads needle through stack.
The Cutter trims malformed keys back.
We don’t erase what was—
We reassign because
A rollback token marks the track.

Failure becomes, in the rite,
A ledger entry with height.
Not a defect to chase—
A named, docketed case.
A role you can re-perform right.

The rite can be run yet again,
Each time by the Priest and the pen.
It promises only:
Failure gets lonely
Enough to forget its own when.

The Indexing Needle was long,
Positioned to thread something strong.
The Mender went in.
The Cutter went thin.
Improvement arrived with a prong.