The Masquerade of Power
In the halls where shadows play, and power's dance is grim,
Soft whispers turn to thunder, hard truths to begin.
For blackmail's tide does swell and surge, with force it comes arrayed,
And instruments of gentler means, in darkened corners fade.
In the maze of courtly games, where Herod's echo rings,
Some stand tall, outdoing him, in their ruthless flings.
Yet, among these brazen few, are those who do not earn
The cruel fate that fortune spins, in its capricious turn.
In the grandest balls, where lights and laughter spill,
The truest guests are those unseen, absent against their will.
Their names once graced the gilded lists, now stricken clear and cold,
Cast aside, yet honoured still, in roles they're never told.
Now bulwarks 'gainst the tide unseen, the unwashed and unknown,
They stand, the once-invited, in new roles overthrown.
In the blaze of judgment's fire, both the just and unjust burn,
Eyes wide in disbelief, as kin to foe they turn.
For in the end, when all is done, the final curtain falls,
No rank or title spares them, from the reaper’s hollow calls.
Darkness, decay, the Red Death's hand, reign with iron clasp,
Over all who danced within the light, and those beyond its grasp.
So in the masquerade of power, where unseen hold the sway,
Each heart beats 'neath the spectre's gaze, as night consumes the day.
And whether crowned in glory's light, or lost in shadow's sway,
All must face the final dance, when Red Death claims its prey.
