Conceit

The distance keeps growing and silence screams
Pride and vengeance have built walls of steel in between
Once inseparable, now separated by their conceits
Victory for retribution; while once-upon-a-time love weeps

Malice rolls off tongues, and anger lashes out
Spite to gouge deep-rooted hurt sprouts
Abhorrence at the very existence of each other shouts
Neither backs down, fickle self-worth stands proud
Passion that once burned fierce, is now buried down

Who is winning, or is it a unanimous defeat?
What is to be earned by this venomous feat?
Has Love really burned out and exhausted its heartbeats?
Or has it been poisoned irrevocably by their own despicable Conceit?