The battle

A reflective surface begs for a fight.
Shoulders drop, tension releases.
It comes and goes like the tide,
But burns fires in the air, thick like smoke spewing from an ancient volcano.
Black eyes mentally drawn from clenched fists, teaching lessons through the night.
Sleep comes forced, but light comes unannounced.
To beg.
Look.
A cracked reflective surface wanting just one once,
To set it's jagged lines in place.