In shadowed halls where echoes reign,
The dance of power, a silent game,
Whispers thread through gilded doors,
Secrets held on marble floors.
Beneath the gaze of ancient eyes,
Ambition soars, ambition flies,
In corridors where futures bend,
The will to rule, the means to end.
Voices rise in measured tones,
Each word a seed, each plan is sown,
The theater of influence plays,
In subtle moves, in shadowed ways.
Yet powerâs grasp is fleeting still,
A fragile dance upon the hill,
For in the heart of every throne,
Lies the truth, the powerâs own.