They stand at the podium, bathed in glow, Words rehearsed for the evening show. Every pose, every pause, crafted just so, For the clip that rolls when the numbers grow. Speak like saints, haloed grins, Truth hides where the spotlight begins. Ministers rush to patch what’s thin, Camera rolls, so they dive right in. Policies wait in shadowed rooms, Clicks bloom headlines, the nation fumes. Costumes loom, the stage consumes, Safety found in the boardroom’s gloom. The throne reaches far, grasp is vague, Meant to guide, not distort or plague. They mold the words, avoid the drag, Roots in the ground endure the sag. Hands for signing, not for healing, Hearts for polling, not for feeling. Polished image, power appealing, Truth fades out while the lie’s revealing. Delegation could let the system run, Ministers carry the heavy one. Fame’s a flame outshining the sun, Better to glow than get the work done. Press calls out, “Give a sign,” They smile: “The fault’s not mine.” Slogans stitched, frames aligned, But cracks still show in the grand design. Grace in power? You won’t find much, The kind get crushed, the cold get clutched. Climb the hill, rise on grit, Dust and disgust, you won’t quit. Lead with care? Care won’t pay, Wolves wear suits in a world of gray. Gentle voices fade in the fray, Thrones aren’t built for those who pray. Diplomats fall where the loud ones shout, Truth goes quiet when pride stands out. Morals bend when the lights burn out, Meek wait while the strong reroute. Crown don’t carry the weight it claims, Polishes gold while the fire remains. History hums in forgotten names, Leaders smile while the people blame. Power’s a mirror, not a chain, Shines for the crowd but reflects no pain. Crown keeps gleaming in the rain… World waits still for someone humane.
