She greets with charm, but masks a snare,
A queen in shadowed, deadly lair.
She does not love, she seeks to own,
To sit on thrones not hers alone.
She whispers poison in his ear,
Inflates his pride, then feeds his fear.
She builds him up to bring him low,
And feasts upon his weakened soul.
Her counsel wraps in flattery,
But hides a tongue of blasphemy.
She mocks his God, then veils her hate
With half-truths cloaked as wisdom’s weight.
She walls around with cold control,
No gate of trust, no open soul.
She rules by guilt, by threat, by shame,
Then shifts the blame and speaks his name.
He wakes one day a hollow man,
No strength to lead, no godly plan.
His dreams are dust beneath her heel,
His fire gone, no strength to feel.
She drains the life that once was bold,
Leaves hearts as ashes, love grown cold.
Like Delilah in secret guise,
She weaves her power with artful lies.
His voice once strong, now barely breathes,
His armor rusted underneath.
For every man this spirit finds,
It twists his heart, it darkens minds.
How sad for those who cheered her on,
Who hailed her tales from dusk till dawn.
She wept aloud and wore disguise,
While listing faults and crafting lies.
The wise would pause, and question deep,
But fools believed her words so cheap.
They praised her wounds, yet saw no knife
Blind to the theft of another’s life.
She played the victim, spun the tale,
While hiding thorns beneath her veil.
And when the truth began to shine,
Her crowd had long crossed wisdom’s line.
— Mekdes