This silence is louder then our words,
More deafening then the shattering dishes and breaking furniture.
Sitting in the eye of the storm,
Silent and still, sending out false promises of a return to normal.

Quietly pleading for an intruder,
Someone to break this silence as the tension grows.
But afraid of the rest of the storm,
This part not yet ventured through.

We go about our lives,
One memorized task, routine, day, after the next.
Days go by and not a word.

The tension, yet invisible,
Makes it hard to breath.
It’s thick enough to cut with a knife,
But tension cannot bleed.

The eye of the storm is passing,
Angry looks shot across the room,
Caught by an angry glare.
As we no longer try to retain out disgruntled feelings.

This silence has been broken,
And now I sit in fear,
Awaiting the storm of words,
I’m about to hear.

We’ve done this dance before,
One fight after the next,
But this is worse,
We’ve not danced like this yet.

Dance around our words,
Meanings set in deep,
To angry to realize the pain our words can reap.

We stumble in our dance,
Step on each others toes,
But we’re moving too fast,
To verbally oppose.
Our dancing words will forever struggle to be heard.

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