Three up-turned cups
pouring from the heavens.
The maidens bicker endlessly
up-heaved in mediocre tendencies.
They lap at the droplets
evaporating slowly from the floor
towards hexagonal prisms once more.
A haggard crone from the side
while heaving a sigh
split the silence with a deafening roar.
With her eyes open wide
she called to the tide,
the pounding fury amassed at the door.
A new-found sound
erupted from the ground
spurned by the demands of the space.
Patterns of speech crowned
as they echoed around
waking the knight who was resting in place.
He unsheathed his sword
and he grasped at the words
that flung tattered through empty heads and ears.
Their guidance ignored,
stunned tired and bored,
in unrestrained bounds they fled until no one was near.
The knight escaped after
driven by incessant chatter.
He vowed that he'd return with the proper words to say.
Chased until foreverafter
beyond scoffing and laughter:
"Be wary of the number of players cast in your play."