Wednesday, September 26, 2012

The Orator

I mean to put a lot in here metaphorically speaking. You can take this at face value, dig a little deeper, peel off another layer. For me, i see it in three ways.

Nowhere in any corner of the world was to be found,
an orator as great as he.
Him with his speeches and fiery words,
the gift of speech, the power to wield.

Great aplomb it was said he had,
in full measure too, no less.
People flocked in large numbers,
to hear his speech, the masses of sheep.

With that golden tongue he rent asunder,
many an ego, reputations he plundered.
Quaking and quailing before one such as he,
reduced to jelly, even in one's dream.

All was not well with the orator of fame,
alone was he, on his throne of flame.
For naught was his words, his speech, his guile,
so hard he sought the love of his life.

One day he did come by, this girl
he thought that could ruin his life.
He wanted to go some place it seemed,
he asked her so, as if in a dream.

She nodded her head and pointed straight,
with just her hand she told him the way.
'Can you not speak now? Come!' said he.
She shook her head and went, he saw until he could see.

Curious he found this meet with her,
him with his fire and passion untethered.
That one who could speak not but a word,
could make him mute, how absurd!

That day it was said the flame was out,
a pity sprang where there was none.
He yearned for naught, but a simple glance,
from that mute girl he met by chance.

Gone were his words, his cause, his speech,
Gone where the crowds who bayed tat his feet!
Utter ruin it was said, invite did he,
But none knew what went wrong, with his spiteful speak.

He knew then what he wanted to do,
leave rabble rousing, that was empty too.
Turned to ashes were his conviction,him with the mastery of speech,
In the end the comfort he sought, solace in silence did he seek.

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