Unspoken Storm

Your voice, a tempest I didn’t foresee,

broke the calm that tethered you to me.

Each word, a stone, heavy and cold,

left wounds untended, stories untold.

Did I provoke the thunder’s roar,

or am I the wreckage washed ashore?

Caught in the tide of your bottled strife,

an unwilling witness to your inner knife.

I wonder if blame has found its mark,

or if I’m just a lantern in your dark.

The silence now, loud and unkind,

echoes the questions you left behind.

Still, I wait, though shaken and torn,

to see if we weather this passing storm.

For even in hurt, your light remains—

a friend I love, despite the pain.

~RMC