Octahedron

In the great Roman theater, a spectacle shone, Octavius plotted, his plan undisclosed. To lure back Antony, strong and brave, With lavish rites, to bind his heart in servitude. His wife, Octavia, fair and serene, Queen of Rome, with regal grace. But Antony's heart, in Cleopatra's grasp, In the arms of Egypt, forever remained. His servant became, bound to her will, A bond eternal, beyond the coin's reveal. For Cleopatra's power lies not in her face, But in her arts, in her irresistible guile. Transmuting before their eyes, a radiant display, With every move, pleasure she doth bestow. Her voice, a melody, sweet and dear, Whispers of love, drawing men near. In her adornments, she weaves her weapon, With every gesture, she sells her allure. Antony captivated, his transformation clear, His heart, his charms, subjected. For Cleopatra, the art of seduction supreme, To keep him, her love she imparted. Norma Jean, a girl of lofty dreams, In tattered rags, learned to soar. With laughter and gaze, their eyes she captured, Her allure, a force none could deny. Marilyn, they said, not quite beautiful enough, But in film, her bluff she played. With every step, she wove her web, Her walk, bitterness to melt hearts. I