The wooden door would slam three times throughout the night
Constant shouting and broken hearts, mocked the still eyes in fright
Endless cursing, relentless weeping, two faces turned to white
The battle wounds forever scarred, too weak to run or fight
Time waiting for the ending line, to reappear once more
The final word that leaves the mouth, then crashing to the floor
One warrior left in relentless pain reflects about the war
While the other closes the gate and runs, now the total count is four
Now a mother, alone and cold, two slits marked on her sleeve
Turns her head, breaks down once more, a steady, heavy heave
The shadows reveal the younger ones, who watched as dad did leave
A gift that no one wants this year, on the family’s Christmas Eve