Within the dim-lit realm of desks and chairs,
Where shadows dance, concealing corporate snares,
A haunted office echoes with the cries,
Of managers, enrobed in darkened guise.

Their eyes, like ravens, piercing through the haze,
Commanding workers in their dreary maze,
With whispered threats and promises untrue,
They wield their power, casting gloom askew.

The clock’s cruel hands, mark the hours long,
As workers toil beneath the leaders’ song,
A haunting melody, a haunting call,
That echoes through the halls, a funeral pall.

Beware the whispers in the breakroom’s air,
For gossip breeds like phantoms everywhere,
As alliances are forged and secrets kept,
While trust and loyalty are soundly swept.

The treacherous ascent, a climb profound,
Where backstabbing and cunning do abound,
With each step on the ladder to the top,
A struggle, fierce, where trepidations drop.

Beneath the surface, hidden from the light,
The politics of office, dark as night,
Where rivalries like spectres intertwine,
And bonds of friendship fray like fragile twine.

Yet, ‘midst this web of intrigue and despair,
A glimmer of hope hangs in the frigid air,
A spark within each worker’s weary heart,
To rise above, to make a fresh new start.

Though managers may hold the upper hand,
Their grip, like smoke, will fade in shifting sand,
For unity and strength shall break the chains,
And cast aside the shadowy remains.

So, in this eerie dance of power’s art,
Let kindness be the counter to the dark,
For with a heart untainted by deceit,
True leadership shall rise and fears defeat.

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