A man, a mirror split in two:
One side cold, the other seeking strength anew.
The cold one, timeless, never grows old,
Cherishing days like a child, carefree and bold.

He shifts with the winds, moods ever in flight,
Opening his heart to the world’s soft light.
He writes poetry, weaves jokes with ease,
Speaking truths, longing for comfort and peace.
A gentle soul, a lover of care,
Seeking solace in a world unfair.

But the one who craves strength turns away,
Not for love, not for joy, not to stay.
He mocks the world, marches through despair,
Winning battles, yet still stripped bare.
Not good enough, not at the end,
He fears weakness where strength must bend.

To be the best, he casts warmth aside,
Even when kindness feels like a guide.
Mean though he seems, his resolve is steel,
For strength, to him, is all that’s real.

Yet the duality spins, confuses the world—
Some see him happy, others see him bold.
The heart chooses its path, slow to reveal,
Which side to follow, which truth to feel.

And when they ask, “Which do you prefer?”
I answer softly, my voice a stir:
“The strength, the strength, though cold it seems—
It’s the strength that cradles my dreams.”