Battle of the Siblings

Everyday, I play a game. It is a battle to some, a combat of wits. It’s a trial of my awareness; my word against his. As Mother listens, I defend my case. My brothers’ story is very solid, with the minority of errors. But I only makes mine seem all the better, when I show my insight in such matters. It seems that it comes to this all to often; a battle of he said-she said. And It is not me I am defending, so do not be deceived. My brothers quarrel, and brawl all day. But is not them that suffer, it is me. For I am the witness of such brutal conflicts. I am called to witness who did what; who was wrong? If my judgment is inaccurate, then I hear an outcry of the opposing sibling. When it’s all over, I take a bow, leave a smile. Heading to my room, I think about the accomplishments of the day. I am the witness, they are the defendants, Mom is the jury, and God as the judge. Although it is always fair, I wish they would quit these pointless debates.