The fall of the false rulers

We are robbed Robbed of hope, the masses yearn,
Like believers awaiting Christ's return.
But patience falters, faith decays,
As dreams of salvation drift away.

A land of riches, vast and wide,
It is plundered by those who stand with pride.
Rulers they call themselves, in vain,
Their hands are stained with our own pain.

They raise the banner of our land,
While robbing it with greedy hands.
Our leaders, once our shining stars,
Now, shroud our future with their scars.

Our forefathers’ sweat, in vain it flows,
Betrayed by those who vowed to sow
A heaven on earth, so grand and wide,
But all their promises, hollow inside.

Manifestos, bright as day,
But truth beneath them fades away.
Once in power, they turn to foes,
The masses trampled by their blows.

Forgotten are the roots they tread,
The ones who raised them from the dead.
They’ll soon disembark from their throne,
To learn hard lessons on their own.

This land, it kills what it creates,
It shuns the good and fosters hate.
Drains the energy of those who strive,
And makes it hard for dreams to thrive.

But judgment looms, its shadow near,
For those who rule in pride and fear.
Escape they might, but can’t evade,
The suffering their deeds have made.

For generations yet to come,
Will bear the weight of what’s been done.
A reckoning awaits us all,
When tyrants’ reign will surely fall.

This poem consists of nine stanzas of equal line. It has an end rhyme that beautified the tone and the rhythm of the poem. It is a poem that captures a land that is doomed by its so-called rulers. Those who are supposed to make life easy for the citizens are the ones who soiled everything due to their greediness and self-pity.