Three graces.
Wailing, weeping, woeing
blue sheets, but no winding and no wind
so they hang there looking anticlimactic
I don't even know where we are.
So why are you crying?
then the stone markings hear me
forget the whispering
now each one has a word to spit
world in revolt
red grass
and I woke them all up
for nothing
the first two of a developing species
rise at my summoning
these creatures must be yellow
the yellow of smoke
and a room full of gold
Did I make them mouths?
Heavy air.
silence
so the question already existed
uttered by one internal organ, received by another
If I stop believing in my destiny
Will it cease to exist?