Sonnet 18

Two combatants, they contend, and striving
Against each other tearing tender flesh,
They rend themselves where once they sought to mesh
The hearts that would otherwise be driving
In unison toward a common end;
And then their struggles abate and both rest
From fighting, the wounded lovers, lest
They finish the test - they have to mend,
Or this contest would finally end - ease
Into their corners, treat their stripes and face
That they do not know how they reached this place
Of battle, how can they this conflict cease
When the alternative to bloody war
Is indifference, to touch no more.