Donald Trump: The Prince Who Forgot the People
O Donald Trump, your crown was earned
By chants of hope from those who yearned.
They dreamed you'd end the endless fight,
And lead them from the dying night.
You rose not as a common name—
But as a symbol wrapped in flame.
“Make America great,” you cried,
Yet truth and action soon divide.
For bombs still fall in lands afar,
And peace lies broken by your war.
You spoke of walls, of strength, of pride,
While millions weep and sleep outside.
You mocked the weak, empowered the strong,
And sang the old imperial song.
But greatness is not built on fear,
Nor made through wealth when none is near.
The people cry for bread, not war,
Yet you have opened every scar.
The money flows to fuel and guns,
While schools collapse and hunger runs.
O Trump! If Machiavelli spoke,
He’d warn you of the crown you broke.
The prince must lead with tempered grace,
And not betray the people’s face.
Socrates would ask you still:
Do you govern by truth or will?
Can virtue thrive where ego reigns?
Can justice rise in gilded chains?
The empire groans beneath the lie,
And history’s ink will not run dry.
Will they recall a man who healed—
Or just the mask behind a shield?
Donald Trump, the path is near,
To lead with heart or rule by fear.
Undo the harm, begin again—
Or be remembered not as a man,
But as a warning to all men.
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