An Old Poem

Familiar. The breeze of a tongue.
The warning of the storm to come.
A shelter long built. In time made strong.
Keeps the feelings away and the tears long gone.
To stand a receiver of frustrated blows.
Give nothing back. Don’t let anything show.
There is no reason. Not even the truth.
It’s only taken as a worthless excuse.
Let the storm run it’s course. Don’t get in the way.
Else your shelter will surely pay.
Just be a rock. It’ll be over soon.
And life will go on like there was no monsoon.
Watch for the signs. Don’t be lazy.
It will come again and it will come hazy.
A fresh new storm. It’s warning sung.
Upon the harsh breeze of a tongue.