The master thinks he's free at last,
With chains on others, he holds fast.
The strong do what they will, they say,
While weak must suffer, day by day.
But power's grip is cold and tight,
And binds the master to the fight.
For in a land where none are plain,
The strong would find no strength to gain.
Their might depends on others' pain,
Without the weak, their strength is vain.
The master, bound by his own chains,
In seeking power, only gains
A hollow throne, a fleeting reign,
For true control is never plain.
In every heart, a truth does lie,
That power's just a fleeting high.
The strong need weak to feel their might,
But in the end, they lose the right.
No comments:
Post a Comment