He walks a thin line between dusk and dawn,

A weary soul who is both lost and torn,

One half burns with a righteous fire,

The other drowns in pure lust and desire.

His heart a map with scars and seams

Held together by a string of old broken dreams,

He longs for peace and to sleep at night,

But his thoughts are dancing in shadows bright.

In his head, one voice proclaims “stay the course,

Have strong hands, apply a steady force”,

The other voice he hears just as clear,

Tempts him with a reckless thrill, a siren call he longs to kill

He is myth and for real, both beauty and blight,

A forge for compassion, not just for the fight,

Masculinity hums like a hidden machine,

Deep and unseen, there is no need to chide and no need to demean.

He is both a hero and a selfish thief,

Where light and dark, meet joy and grief,

Forever trapped but free to choose,

A war within, he’s destined to lose.