To What Doom, The Fates?

Thinking of cycles has me spinning in circles,
speaking in riddles and writing in rhymes 
The danger of these things transgresses my feelings
But the worst of it all is that it happens all the time:

A sickening population weaves an unraveling tapestry
But the Fates have been so nauseated by the dyes that color it and the tragedies woven into it that they have abandoned their loom and let the inept take over.

Now they are resting with the Muses with the frail hopes of alleviating some of their suffering in these, their twilight days. 

The sun is setting but the moon is beautiful,
The only visage that could bring light to the darkness that is a nightmare in the mind of God Himself.