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She smiled with eyes that burned like dawn,
Yet shadows lingered where light was drawn.
Not love, but power cloaked in grace—
A game of masks, a lover’s face.

Her lips spoke vows, her hands held tight,
But her heart was ruled by shifting night.
She said, “Forever,” but meant, “Until…”
Love was no bond—it bent to will.

Men, the builders, bleeding bone—
Give her the castle, die alone.
He forged the world with scarred hands bare,
She took the throne, but did not care.

Courts crowned queens in silent wars,
Where love dissolves in legal scars.
Eighty men fall for every vow,
Yet none knows why or questions how.

The ring, the rose, the wedding veil,
All set the man upon the scale.
His wealth, his name, his soul, his fight—
Traded for kisses that fade with night.

She calls it love, but love is choice,
Not the echo of a silenced voice.
If sex were gone, what would remain?
Would love still live—or end in pain?

History speaks in broken stone,
Of empires cracked by queens alone.
Rome fell not by sword or flame—
But by desire that lost its name.

A man who begs for love will crawl,
But she who sees him kneel feels tall.
True power walks in silent pride—
Not chasing skirts, but stars that guide.

Oh brother, rise from shallow graves,
Where passion ruled and made you slaves.
Turn lust to thought, and thought to flame,
And build a world beyond the game.

Don’t hate the woman—know the lie,
That sells you dreams and drains you dry.
Be not a pawn in Cupid’s plot—
Your soul’s worth more than what it’s not.

And if she loves, let her show,
Not through her words, but what she’ll sow.
For truth in love is sacrifice—
Not comfort's bed, or beauty's price.

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