An olive branch, a sacred sign,
Of peace once pure, of hope divine.
Its roots ran deep, its leaves shone bright,
A beacon through the darkest night.
But now it wilts beneath decay,
Its promise stripped and cast away.
For every offer laced with lies,
Another olive branch slowly dies.
A fungus grows, unseen at first,
Feeding on trust—its hunger cursed.
It spreads through talks, corrupts the air,
A peace that’s false, a snare laid bare.
Through whispered halls and shadowed schemes,
Corruption kills the noble dreams.
A gift for tyrants cloaked in lies,
While freedom fades and justice dies.
The branch extended bends with weight,
Of greed disguised as noble fate.
Its bark is cracked, its sap runs dry—
A hollow pact beneath
The olive tree stands tall with pride,
Its roots in soil where hope resides.
But look more closely—see the blight—
Its branches sickened overnight.
For every branch that’s held aloft,
An infection lurks within its soft
And tender wood, unseen but real—
A hidden plague that time reveals.
Corruption festers deep inside,
Where greed and power choose to hide.
The fungus spreads—it chokes the tree—
And kills the hope of unity.
These branches offered never bloom;
They only lead to further gloom.
A mask for war, a false pretense—
A fragile peace at great expense.
Through whispered halls and shadowed deals,
The rot beneath diplomacy reveals:
A gift for Russia as Ukraine falls—
False promises echo through darkened halls.
"Divide the land," the leader says,
"Power plants too—we’ll find a way."
But in this pact no peace is found;
Just stolen soil and hollow ground.
Zaporizhzhia’s rivers cry;
Kherson’s fields wither under lies.
Four regions claimed by might and greed—
Another olive tree must bleed.
Each ceasefire promised breaks apart;
Each pact conceals a ruthless heart.
The olive branch once pure and bright
Now bears the scars of endless blight.
A figure looms—a fungus grown—
Its tendrils stretch where seeds are sown.
It feeds on trust; it thrives on fear;
Its voice is loud but insincere.
It speaks of peace while planting war;
It claims to heal but leaves a scar.
Its roots entwine where truth once stood;
It drains the soil of all that’s good.
This fungus chokes each offered bough;
It twists the tree—it bends its vow.
No branch survives its toxic touch;
No promise made can mean so much.
DrummerDave26
