Images of my children dance in my mind,
Before my eyes,
Their laughter echoes through my skull,
Tickles my ears.

Not my children by blood,
Or friends or compassion.
They are not flesh and are not breathing,
Yet somehow the steady rhythm of their exhales,
Reach me.

Reach for me. Slowly, carefully,
Ruthlessly, without a second thought,
I return their grasp with that of my own.

Not my children, but somehow I am their mother.
Mother, for I have created them.
Started with their smiles,

Smiles which can only be worn by the young,
And by the uncorrupted,
Untouched, unharmed.
Those who have not been,
Tasted by the dark shadows,
Who crawl through halls.

No children. Do not place your footprints there.
Not in the hall. Not in the dark.
I am their protector,
Creator, mother.

I then moved to form their feet.
Long, slender feet,
That would never allow them to stumble.
Allow my children to run.
Allow my children to dance.

Dance, my children, dance,
Until the music is gone,
So you might be able to recite the notes,
One by one,
And light the shadows.

I then gave them arms- something to cling to me with.
Not my children,
But cling to me, I will protect you.
Eyes and ears to see the sky,
To listen to the dances,
Voices to sing with.

But why? My children, why?
Do not be so careless with my delicate creations.
Have I not warned you?
To guard your heart,
Fear the dark,
Feed your passions.

Not my children,
But I will mend this.
Hold on, my children.
Keep breathing.
Cling to me.
Do not place your footprints there.

Images of my children dance in my mind,
Not my children,
But I am their mother.

With every unguarded dance,
Pain stabs through my stomach,
Have I not instructed you,
To fear the dark?
Cling to me, I’ll protect you.
Mother, creator.

Yet their arms reach for me no longer.
To another they reside.
All I wanted was to keep them safe.
Hear their laughter.
Why do they reject me?

Not a mother,
Not theirs,
Yet they are my children.

Dance, my children, dance,
Until the music is gone,
So you may recite the notes.