Every three months, the storm rolls in,
Same old arguments, it’s where they begin.
Voices sharp, words heavy like stone,
Yet neither will leave, both feel alone.
The same tired topics, round and round,
Accusations hurled, emotions unbound.
Broken promises that never quite heal,
Each wound reopened, impossible to seal.
She says he’s done, he says she’s hurt,
Old scars reopen, and more dirt’s unearthed.
Yet divorce feels like too steep a fall,
So they cling to the ruins, broken but tall.
She doesn’t work; she fears the unknown,
Stuck in a life she doesn’t quite own.
He stays, though the love has long since faded,
A hollow home, where joy’s been traded.
And I, the bystander, caught in their war,
Hoping each time they won’t battle once more.
But the storm is clockwork, the damage is clear,
And peace, it seems, will never live here.
