In a calculated spectacle, Trump and Vance sought to humiliate Zelenskyy before the press, twisting truth into propaganda. Their goal? To paint Ukraine as ungrateful, to justify betrayal, and to sell capitulation as "peace." Behind them loomed Putin, tightening his grip as Trump bent to his demands. This wasn’t diplomacy—it was deception, staged for the American people and the world.

Trump sat smug in his satin throne,
Eyes like steel, heart like stone.
Before him, Zelenskyy, firm and proud,
Refusing to kneel, to bend, to bow.

Cameras rolled, the trap was set,
Vance beside him, cold and wet.
A puppet’s grin, a hollow stare,
Lies rehearsed with practiced flair.

“We gave you arms, we gave you “gold“,
Yet you defy, so harsh, so bold.
You spit on peace, you scorn our grace,
You bite the hand that saved your place.”

But peace was chains and iron bars,
Not treaties sealed, just open scars.
A deal made far from Ukraine’s sight,
With Putin grinning in the night.

Surrender masked as “war’s quick end,”
A traitor’s trick they dared extend.
No safety promised, no shield remained,
Just land carved up and lives profaned.

Yet Zelenskyy, spine unbent,
Met their stares with words unspent.
No trembling voice, no lowered head—
A soldier’s oath, a truth unsaid.

Trump seethed, his ploy exposed,
His rage like embers, dark and closed.
So he and Vance, with spiteful tongues,
Made him the villain, strung the drums.

“The man is blind, he craves the fight,
Ungrateful wretch, devoid of light.
He mocks the peace we sought to bring,
He scorns the hand of mercy’s king.”

But those who watched could see it plain—
A coward’s trick, a leader’s pain.
Not peace they sought, but power’s hand,
To gift Ukraine to Putin’s land.

And so they stood, these men of greed,
Drenched in failure, choked by need.
The press had seen, the world had heard—
A lie too rotten to be stirred.