Mother

“This is what I was made for,” She always said. She made things simple, and when she was here There was purpose. She gave the people the nutrition needed to feel real, even him. He, who gave her anguish, Fed on her supple words of wisdom, Turned them into action. She gave him bits of pollen, Dripping from her honey-covered face. She shined on even the darkest Parts of his surface, Flinging herself out of the hole he buried her in. This caused a rise of anguish Engulfing all of the Hope left For her to use for creation. It was gone. Everything else turned to dust. He broke her. Her green foundation and delicate blossoms Compromised by mass destruction