1. Pride: The Emperor’s Boastful Blues
Behold the Chosen — he proclaims divine,
Stable genius, master of the art and deal,
Each gaffe dismissed — “The fault, not mine!”
His ego’s titanic, eclipsed by no wheel.
With Twitter sword, he smites all shame,
“Infallible!” shouts the gilded frame.
Supporters say it’s confidence, cool and keen —
Yet every mirror cries: “Long live the king!”
2. Greed: The Gilded Glutton
Stacks of green, a casino’s ghost,
Trump’s lust for lucre is legend most.
Contracts stiffed? “Smart business,” he’ll say,
Golf clubs pocketing foreign pay.
Tax returns a spectral dance —
“Audit!” he chirps, “Don’t spoil my chance.”
His fortune is gospel to fans with a need,
For gold-plated altars where only he leads.
3. Lust: Access Denied (Or Not)
Of fevered tapes and whispered suit —
A million non-disclosure deals in pursuit.
Ivanka? “If she weren’t mine — ” a little jest?
A succession of wives put moral claims to test.
The bedroom’s a battlefield, conquest, performance,
But “locker room talk!” explainers in abundance.
Yet every charge, each damning quote,
Is washed by red hats: “Just slander they wrote.”
4. Envy: The Green-Eyed Builder
No throne too high for Trump to slight —
Obama’s birth, McCain’s fight.
Rivals dubbed losers, adversaries “cheaters,”
Crowds fed on grievances, the perennial eaters.
“Others have failed!” he thunders anew,
Ripping old statues for something askew.
Critique or envy? His followers cry,
“He’s saving us all! Let snowflakes sigh.”
5. Gluttony: The Supersize Supreme
Champagne dreams with a Diet Coke scheme:
Filets from McDonald’s, sundaes a-stream.
Gold-plated toilets, Mar-a-Lago feasts,
Twelve sodas a day for America’s beast.
Three hundred rounds, in sun or in rain,
While gorging on cable and others’ disdain.
Critics bemoan such epic excess,
But “This is the dream!” fans gladly profess.
6. Wrath: MAGA Thunder
A Tweetstorm’s rage — a digital blitz,
“You’re fired!” and “Fake News!” in regular fits.
Protesters pummelled; rivals berated —
Even hurricanes felt wrath unabated.
Charlottesville “both sides,” the media the foe,
Retribution threatened, his anger aglow.
Supporters call it passion ablaze,
Yet his volcano scalds reason for days.
7. Sloth: Leisure in High Places
Nine holes before noon, then long midnight tweets,
Intel skipped for TV’s more edible treats.
Briefings cut short — “I only need pictures!”
Staffers play Pictionary with nuclear fixtures.
He blamed every misstep on scapegoats galore,
While the workweek shrunk to an office décor.
Yet to his base — “A tireless champ!”
The image survives through each golf course romp.
8. The Supporters Speak: Through Rose-Coloured Glass
From the loyal crowd, virtues arise:
Pride? Just gumption, and greed, enterprise.
Lust? “Alpha male,” say the choir so bold,
Envy? “Truth-telling!” in the stories retold.
Gluttony? “Living the life we all crave!”
Wrath? “Righteous fury” to the nation he’ll save.
Sloth? Just “delegation” — a master at rest;
In contorted defences, the base feels blessed.
9. Critics’ Chorus: A Sinsome Score
Yet op-eds and rants pile up in stacks,
A ledger of flaws, of character cracks.
From liberals to centrists, some even on Fox,
Debate if his legacy’s Pandora’s Box.
Is it sin or just show, a country’s divide?
Each side sure of righteousness, facts left aside.
Was Nero a golfer? The Romans can’t tell —
A question for scholars in Twitter’s own hell.
10. American Confession: The Mortal Mirror
So seven sins, in orange hue stained,
From towers to rallies, the gospel explained —
Yet his tale is our own, in grotesque reflection:
We love “winners,” their sins mere confection.
For every Trump in history’s parade,
We shadow these weaknesses, truth unswayed.
Let him who is sinless, cast the first tweet —
In America’s mirror, the sins repeat.
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