The three sisters fall.
One young, one teen, one adult, fall.
The adult picks herself up,
Cradles the young,
And the teen clings.
The three cry and weep,
For the life they are given.
And yes, thus the lives they were born with,
Have disagreed upon their souls.
Their intent or agreement were never reached
With the heavens who created them.
The adult cradles the two souls too young,
Covering their heads with gentle but soothing
Touch.
Three months later, the two fall.
One teen and one adult.
The adult carries a small picture of her
Youngest sister who smiled so beautifully.
The two cradle each other,
Leaving a small space for the young to sit.
The smiles of the young, lingering,
Waiting,
Pondering.
I don’t know what I wrote. But I’m just upset.