A man is here to rot all day, his head and hands both locked away. For citizens to gawk and talk; to mock and jeer as they walk In modern days anew type used, the tops and pits for wealth abuse. To buy and sell ever to see the poor remain in poverty

Kings fear me most when their people do not I ride on reason and fall with force.

I am often savored but come at a cost. Many aspire to claim me, often in battle or contest. When achieved at great costs, or for the wrong ends, i may still be celebrated, but be hollow nonetheless.

Beyond the day, before the dark, I leave a silent, fading mark. A sacred pause, a spectral hue, Where ancient tales might still ring true. They say in me, the unseen walk, And whispers from the past can talk. What am I?

I gleamed where senators once tread, A silent witness to the dead. In Rome’s great heart, I played my part, a weapon swift that pierced the heart. By hands once sworn to loyal trust, I brought down Caesar to the dust. What am I?