The Golden Theft of Honour

A medal forged in Oslo’s quiet hall, 
For courage, sacrifice, and people’s cry, 
Is bartered now within a gilded stall, 
Beneath a turbulent and darkened sky. 
Machado held the hopes of millions in her palm, 
A light for those whom tyrants sought to bind, 
Yet traded in the storm for hollow calm, 
And left her people’s dignity behind.

How thin the grace that casts a prize away, 
To flatter one who thrives on ego’s flame? 
The "grateful" daughter gives the gold away, 
While Trump, with practised greed, asserts his claim. 
No gavel’s strike, no jury’s stern decree, 
Can pierce the armour of his cold conceit; 
A king of chaos, draped in mockery, 
Who finds a stolen triumph bitter-sweet.

Upon the screen, his typed-out boast appears, 
On "Truth" he posts his grand, distorted view; 
A "Noble" prize, he claims through ego's sneers, 
Too dull to spell the name of him who knew. 
He fumbles letters while he fumbles peace, 
A simple word he cannot comprehend; 
The irony of "noble" shall not cease, 
Where honour breaks and lawless shadows blend.

He wears the weight of crimes upon his chest, 
A felon-president with lawless hand, 
Who puts the world’s fragile peace to test, 
And spreads his shadow o’er a trembling land. 
Unearned, the luster of the Nobel’s face, 
A badge of peace for one who sows the fire; 
Two spirits met in a dishonoured space, 
To build a monument on moral mire.

The gold is bright, but history is cold, 
It marks the hand that gave and he who took. 
A story of a legacy once sold, 
The darkest chapter in a noble* book.

*  Trump was also stupid enough to write the namesake of the medal and award as 'noble' instead of Nobel

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