Body longer than the veins of men combined,
Taller than the heads of seven men
The wind bites and tears through its skeleton,
The rains cleanse its mercurial skin
      the texture of gravel      hardened by fire

It is an artificial parent
A barely-there mother
Young children fall below
     crowd around its silver skin,
reaching up with bladed arms fragile-thin,
and adhere themselves to it,
pulling themselves up     up     up
each twist and turn nearing them to light

One of them dies, and fades
from viridian lime into burnt sienna
Ever clinging on,
refusing to let go,
even when its body shrivels and withers off  
refusing to say goodbye to its mother,
who long since the start
had held it up
brought it close
to the warming light it so desired.

The others,
Carry on
Climbing and winding,
higher and higher and higher until

Finally!

They blind her.
The brush grows thick with feathers and thorns
Surrounding her, her sight
That one no longer sees anything but

An organic fortress

No trace of her skin remains.
None of those shredding scales are seen
Fear-inducements, horror-sights
Hidden behind the blades of her children

Silver bones turn to rust
The damp pour turns her brittle
armored legs crowd round, as close as they dare come
keeping distance still, wary of the past

Her young rush over without fear
Snaking through her teeth, barbs that shred bone
Knowing that her jaws will never close on them–
     her beloved little children
Their cloying arms, arms that once hugged close for comfort
Now ensnare and hold captive
On their own, they wish to stand
     to be as resilient as their guardian–but without her all the same

Limbs wrap tighter
Blades draw nearer
The weight is heavy
     stifling almost, clouding, suffocating
And yet, she endures

There is no sound

And with the groaning of the wind,
A glinting silver bone breaks
Followed by another     and another      and another
Till stolid earth is littered with crystal fractures
     of a once majestic form     that slowly disappears

The green spills over, crashing over placated earth
The children once-fragile, scatter to the plain
Nothing holds them now,
As cold as their once-mother's skin had been,
     her absent passing, far more chilling