Beacon Poem by Mark Woelkers

One up so high
The distant master of its host
The other at the core of my being
Fixated on what compels most
Intertwined in this vessel
Yet lock in a battle without remedy
They vie for vision
One sees what is
One sees what could be
Both so profound in their answers
Both so profoundly in quarrel
In patience lies the beacon
The catalyst to union
O but this the greatest horror
For the nature of the beacon
Provokes this division of spirit
Provokes this prison of self
Provokes this arcane sorrow
Making the beacon a reverie
A construct of hope
And in equal measure
Misery