In the web of silvered lies we spin,
Threads of truth are thin and frail;
A puppet master’s delicate grin,
Guiding hearts to sail or fail.
The art of words, a double-edged sword,
Crafting tales that blur the line;
Each promise, a silent accord,
In the dance of shadows divine.
Eyes that see but cannot perceive,
The subtle shifts in whispered tones;
Trust, a fragile gift we weave,
In a world of hidden thrones.
Yet within this murky masquerade,
A sliver of light may break the spell;
For manipulation’s grand charade,
Is but a fleeting, hollow shell.