The Children Run and Hide

The Father,
Of white long hair,
And cobwebs,
And broken head,
Like a cracked bowl,
Like a Humpty Dumpty,
He is hollow.
He is mindless.
The Mother,
Of tangled hair,
And twigs,
And thistles,
And thorns,
She who walks mad,
Upside down,
Below worlds,
With teeth and talons bare.
Both powerless,
By frenzy,
And fury-fueled wanderings,
Their blood,
And ties,
The lust,
Of their universe,
Left useless,
And to devour their sons and daughters,
Severing blood and body,
To serve to their wounds and scars,
Until the blood runs no more,
And the bones are bare,
And all that remains,
Is to murder one another.