There we were, we two little ones.
Brothers by blood.
Huddled in horror, sometimes.
Witness to warfare of spirit.
Knowing not where love had gone
Between the Mother and the Father.
Even at this tender age, we’d lost the joy
And looked longingly back on innocence.
Those two battling souls
Were like giants to us,
Their wicked words and warring ways
Like thunderbolts thrown from on high.
With the terrible alchemy
Of self blame
At this tender age.