All good things come in threes.

Revolving around each other

Leaning upon one another

Until one collapses suddenly,

Leaving the remaining two shaken,

Dwindling on the edge

One fractures into pieces

Barely able to stay upright

after an eternity of reliance.

The other cannot seem 

to fall as quickly.

Is it strength? Ignorance?

She had been pushed away,

Unable to find her way into coexistence.

Instead, she watches, she listens,

Inserting herself secretly,

Grasping at every moment of recognition

She is vulnerable, but not on the inside

One has fallen,

One is ready to fall, and

One is wishing she could fall

Just so that she could be included.

A three-way scale, originally balanced

is now tipped irreversibly.

Is this the fault of the creators?

The ones whose histories are knotted together so tightly

But now are fraying at the edges?

Are they to blame

For the unsteady nature

Of what they have created?

It’s too late.

Too much time has already passed.

They all must be content

with what they now have left.

After all, what can they do?

All good things must come to an end.