The grenades of dissension are falling on the encampment of our hearts.
We enjoyed our fair share of love, now all is equitable in this warfare.
Where words of love soothed, bullets of hate now scourge.
Ruthlessly, we fire at each other with weapons of contempt, projectiles of malicious speech.
Neither side relents, mortal enemies spawned from eternal lovers.
Way past the point of reasoning, none obeys the rules of engagement.
The facades of happiness we’ve built lay in ruins now, solemn reminders of what was.
Why we even fight is immaterial now, right or wrong is but mist and fog in this game for two.
The war drags, victory out of grasp for either, it’s time for the heavy artillery,
Both sides dredge up the unthinkable weapon of love’s destruction, the past.
Shell after shell pounds the beaches of a paradise they built, but what does the past have to do with the now?
The landscape of our feelings can’t withstand the implosion, laying bare the irony of love at war, that while we fight each other, we are actually of the same camp.
Soon it won’t matter anyway; there’s an eerie silence that would put the grave to shame.
The grenades of dissension have fallen, all is quiet now
The war is won, but the love has been worn
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