Yin-Yang

This poem, entitled Yin-Yang, is about the constant struggle between the Doctor and the Master and the way their personalities balance each other out. I don't want to give away who's point of view it's from - it'll become apparent as the poem goes on. But if there's something in italic that's repeated, just be aware it's supposed to be said all at once. ...It'll make sense when you get there.

Balance.
Good and evil.
Life and death.
No, no, that's not right - I'm not life.
Oh, you're not?
No. And you're not death.
Sure.
Really. Good and evil, yes. But...
But what?
But we are both death. We are both life and death.
You make no sense...
I know. None of it does.
And yet it's the simplest thing in the universe.
Balance.
Balance.
Light and dark.
Day and night.
Always in controversy.
Never changing.
Friends.
Enemies.
And if that is what we are, then...
We can never end.
Can we?
No.
I live on.
So do I.
...
Believe me.
I hope with all my hearts for it to be true.
But you doubt it.
All the time.
Why?
I saw it with my own eyes...
The senses deceive. You should know that by now.
...
Trust your mind. What is it telling you?
That we.
Are.
Balance.
Balance.
We cannot cease.
We live above.
We look down upon it all and know we are alone.
But never stop to think before we interfere.
We are a part of it.
It is a part of us.
We are a part of each other.
And yet so different.
No; not really.
Once push comes to shove...
We can be the same.
I never can tell just how alike we are.
Neither can I.
And it kills me.
I understand.
No you don't. We may be the same. We may be different. But you do not understand. If you understood, we couldn't be.
Couldn't be?
We couldn't be...
Balance.
Balance. Yes.
One day, we will end.
The ashes will drift away with the changing wind.
And our glory will fizzle out.
Nothing more than a trail of smoke to mark our path.
But we must end together.
Together.
That's how it is.
That's how it's always been.
I am the Doctor.
I am the Master.
And we are balance.
And we are balance.