She will forever be stuck in the middle
diffusing bombs tied off with family wires
radiant, she sits, at the center of the blast
always she was made to carry the weight
of all else above self ever since she was little

tongues find themselves tied in sisterly debate
looking for answers within a blurred past
pounds of flesh, weighing each one’s fate
trying to see through the smoke of memory’s fire
she will always be the one chosen to mediate

and she, she will never be satisfied
a tight rope unbalanced between love and hate
feeding the flames just to watch them grow higher
don’t need to meet the spark to know the flames spread fast
one thing for certain, she will never be denied

both must know salted tears turn sickly sweet
arguing over who is the world’s first liar
the candle is burning the light it outlasts
reconcile, and before the clock ticks too late
kneel, make this bed cozy at mother’s feet

A karousel posted for dVerse Poets Pub’s Form For All by David James.