Satanic Sonata

Three old ladies with smoky quartz eyes,
knitting the patterns of his own end,
the one stands up and with a creasingly grin,
shakes his hand; he sits with a sigh.

He starts to weave with fingers flight,
and the sonic tapestry begins to take form,
it starts to emerge from the top of the loom,
This moment, forever, and ever of sight.

Then the instrument becomes a conflagration,
and the women shriek in terror upon
the realization that he is their master.

Their father, and brother, and the head of their nation
had fooled them into an arrogant spawn
Of himself, the truest creature of disaster.