Her Children

She awakens,

untouched and wild,

strangely serene,

having been born from fire.

Her green body sways,

as her blue blood flows,

as her white breath whispers quietly,

quietly on the wind.

She loved all her children,

supplying them with food,

supplying them with water,

supplying them with shelter.

Her children cared for her aswell,

supplying her with love,

supplying her with honour,

supplying her with respect.

Then her children grew,

and as they grew they forgot about their mother,

forgot how to love her,

forgot how to respect her.

Her children grew,

aware of her presence,

but always without honour,

without recognition.

Her children grew violent,

stealing from her green body,

poisoning her blue blood,

and tainting her white breath.

These were not the children,

not the children she had known.

She wept in sorrow,

as she observed her children.

Sick with greed,

and filled with lust,

they finished it.

She had died.

It was only now,

Only once she had died,

did her children realize,

realize that they needed her.

On their knees they sobbed,

for their mother was dead.

They realize now,

she was the only one who ever truely loved them.

For once her children loved her,

then her children grew.

Then her children used her,

and then her children slew.