From crystal depths the captive spirit wept,
Then broke the seal that bound his soul before,
Where ancient dreams and buried secrets slept,
The Genie rose—a specter carved of ancient lore.

His eyes were flames that danced with mocking fire,
He leaned in close—his voice, a silken snare:
“Speak but one wish, O mortal, your desire,
For once bestowed, no turning back from there.”

“I’ll drown in wealth beyond the dreams of kings,”
I thundered forth, my heart consumed by greed;
“Let emerald fountains burst from jewelled springs,
And let the world kneel low to serve my every need.”

He bowed with grace, the lamp released my wish,
A gilded storm that swallowed night entire;
My vaults o’erflowed—their opulence to flourish,
Yet emptiness consumed my heart’s empire.

Beyond my towers, where famine’s specters plead,
The masses gathered, gaunt and wild with thirst;
Their faces mirrored what my pride decreed,
I barred my gates, secure within my gilded curse.

But hunger’s tide, relentless as the grave,
Devoured the walls that gold and iron frame;
They stormed my keep in fury’s seething wave—
And feasted deep upon my flesh and name.

Now ruins whisper where my kingdom stood,
And ghostly echoes drift through ash and gold;
No song remains of power, pride, or good—
Only my name, by hollow winds my infamy retold.