Every Time We Fight Poem by Vincent Onyeche

Every time we fight,
Like a dust and a broom,
Underneath a mushroom
Is a love that can not be bent.

Yes in here, we ought
To be, a bride and a groom
A flower that bloom
Not torn, gown and suit.

In here, it all seems sweet
Outside the anteroom,
But bitter in the backroom
We put on a smile for hurt.

Every time we fight
The sun becomes a doom,
Shadows of the darkroom,
Upon our lovingly feet.

Misleading us through a path
Into a deadly grillroom
Master room turns a guestroom
Where we argue and fight-

Each other's wrong and right;
Though lost in a showroom
That used to be our playroom
Where love bars refills the heart.

Every time we fight
We turn love into toom and loom
Magnifying microbes by our zoom
Searching for an imperial fault.

Yes in here, we ought
To be, a bride and a groom
A flower that bloom
Not torn, gown and suit.

In here, it all seems sweet
Outside the locker room,
But bitter in the backroom
Our love grows eachtime we fight.