Desperado Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

A shadow falls, a heart unsure,
A leader's fear, a world obscure.
He builds his walls with threats and might,
And darkens all with endless night.

The good he does, a twisted vine,
Around a soul that can't align.
His hand on power, cold and grim,
He drags the world into the whim.

So whispers rise, a desperate plea,
To stop the hand that won't be free.
Before the flame consumes the whole,
What waits the world to save its soul?