He razes walls where history slept,

The East Wing’s bones were left to dust and wept.

Kennedy’s roses crushed beneath

Melania’s heels—no grief, no wreath.

A ballroom rises, cold, obscene,

For phantom crowds and pomp unseen.

The laws, the courts, the people’s voice,

All swept aside to sate his choice.

“Not taxpayer gold!”—the claim is loud,

Yet pillars rise in gilded shroud.

A triumphal arch, a Roman jest,

Where hubris wears a marble vest.

Decadent echoes, Caesar’s lust,

Monuments built on public trust.

He crowns himself in corridors

Of stolen past and mythic wars.

And still, he dreams, and still, he spends,

As heirs of time avert their ends.

No handshake waits in golden hall,

No echoes answer his empty call.

Hubris, marble, roses slain,

A nation watches, trapped in vain.

The halls stand empty, echoing lies,

While gilded dreams incite our cries.