The Sisters

Two sisters were born
In a cradle of dirt
Spawned of rich history
To gain a future of hurt.

For as is the custom
Though it’s never truly said
One child was favored
As both children bled.

To the favored girl-child
A grand crib was designed
With money and toys
The best any could find.

To the less-favored child
Though beloved by some
Her crib was decrepit
And her heart it grew numb.

And so, side by side
The two children they grew
But the favored of children
Saw her future and knew:

“My poor little sister
was not blessed as me
For I am healthy and lovely
As the world would agree

And what of my sister
Can she not grow in kind?
Is she, just by nature
Weaker in beauty and mind?

For we both share this land
And I have done very much
But she simply cries
As if needing kind touch.

I am sorry, dear sister
But this world is so cruel
And I can’t keep myself down
Cleaning after your drool.

My future is bright
Songs sung, books read
And what of you, sister?
What greatness can be said?

I’ll pursue it, perfection
So that one day I’ll shine
But to do that, dear sister
Your crib must be mine.”

But the less favored sister
Sought no more abuse
And though it brought tears
Her crib was all she could use.

Her arms had grown twisted
In the cramped old nest
And her body was warping
As she couldn’t find rest.

And now, having heard
The words of her blood
To take her small birthright
She drew a line in the mud.

“Sweet sister, I hear you
I grasp at your plea.
But why do you seek
To take so much from me?

I may not have much
For this crib is a cage
That once held potential
Now is full of just rage.

The world favors you
Of that I can not deny
But perhaps they can see me
If they hear our dead cry.

I hate you, dear sister
For what you propose
And so long as I breathe
Your life, I’ll depose.

Your nature is vile
For you seem very just
But your golden smile hides
A monster unworthy of trust.

I will not wait for your coming
To dismantle me whole
If I die for dignity
Than I accept the tragic role.”

And so the sisters waged war
Though it could hardly be said
That the sides were both even
As one made mounds of the dead.

As beloved by most
The favored sister drew support
And while the weaker sister fought
The world’s patience grew short

“Why can’t you get along
With your sister, so fair,
She seeks only true freedom
Do you not even care?

Stop your kicking and screaming
Leave her children alone
For they only want peace
Drop your stick and your stone.

We will aid you young child
From your sister, so vile
So her fury will be halted
And you can rest easy a while.

And to you, hateful girl
Who attacks her own blood
You will give up your cradle
And live with less mud.”

So it would be
And the sisters gave birth
And the children heard tales
Told around their own hearth.

“…Of the monstrous spawn
Who forget the bonds of kin
Who kill over land
Who are evil deep within.

These fables have faces
Seen over the years
For that sister’s cruel children
Have brought many tears.

Those you have loved
Since the beginnings of days
Are taken by Her hatred
In the lands being razed.

So rise up, my children
Stand not for this crime
Claim what should be ours
For now is our time!”

And so it goes on
For each new generation
Until at last it will come
A new view, revelation.

All life must be sacred
For we are all of this land
We must embrace one another
As we reach out our hand.


2 comments on “The Sisters

  1. Ada Moritz says:

    Fantastic! Beautiful metaphors, very tragic; I love how current this is.


  2. armandoc3 says:

    Thanks! The conflict has been going on for so long it’s hard to imagine that this poem would not be current. The challenge for us then is to seek a resolution and turn on the page on this crisis.



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