Runner-up

Take one measure of shame,

add milk, boiling water, and salt.

Pour this into a bowl of flour.

Then mix in two eggs.

Add yoghurt and a dash of guilt

and a lemon juice.

Stir well

until the yellow colours blend,

creating volatile compounds.

Bake a cake

of bitter void,

sweetened with sugarcane.

It won't hold its form.

Just so you know.

Perhaps you've wondered why?

Believed that no one ever intended for it to be this way.

Put on a poor display

two sides clash until the bitter end.

Contending for many things.

Never equal, they squabble over trifles.

Everything matters, because someone has to lose.

They trained it from the start and never used it in speech.

Power carefully divided, set in its own way.

One destined for greatness,

the other, a distant second.

The measure?

Unknown.

It lives in observation.

Hidden, so one might wonder,

how they could contend.

They all have their own strengths.

One is vulnerable; the other isn't.

One stays grounded; the other soars.

Comparing them is pointless.

They're simply too distinct.

How could they even compete?

Born at different times.

There's nothing more to add.