In Davao’s halls, a feast unfurls,

A modern tale, with twists and swirls.

The appointed son, with chosen few,

Dines with vloggers, a loyal crew.

Like Christ of old, in solemn grace,

They gather ’round, each taking place.

But instead of bread and wine divine,

It’s power, fame, and status they dine.

The Last Supper, a sacred rite,

Becomes a summit, gleaming bright.

With selfies snapped and hashtags shared,

Their loyalty proclaimed, declared.

But as they toast, and laugh, and cheer,

Do they forget the truth, so clear?

That power’s grip, though firm and grand,

Can’t wash away the shifting sand.

For in the end, what will they find?

A feast of folly, left behind.

As history’s tale repeats once more,

In Davao’s meal, and days of yore.