In corridors of marble, whispers soft,
Decisions made, and futures oft,
Beneath the gilded ceilings high,
They craft the rules by which we ply.

Shadows stretch in candle’s gleam,
Each choice a ripple in the stream,
With words that promise, hearts they sway,
In the realm where night meets day.

The balance tips, the scales they hold,
In chambers where the stories told,
Of governance that shapes our land,
By steady heart and guiding hand.

Yet power’s dance is fraught with fire,
Ambition’s flame can lift or mire,
In politics, both bright and grim,
The fate of many rests on whim.