A genie in a bottle,

locked up for all his crimes,

was released from his prison,

where he had been for all time.


In the days where man was young,

and had nothing to run from,

the Genie ran unchallenged,

the power was imbalanced.


He conquered and reigned for years,

nourished by his subject’s tears,

until a woman arose,

tired of his daunting pose.


She fashioned a golden urn,

for his prison, for his tomb,

for his leave the people yearned,

for his aurelian gloom.


She presented it to him,

and sucked his essence within.


That was long ago, of dust,

now his reign is back, unjust.

He rules man with great disdain,

and won’t fall to traps again.



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