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.
in full measure too, no less.
People flocked in large numbers,
to hear his speech, the masses of sheep.
many an ego, reputations he plundered.
Quaking and quailing before one such as he,
reduced to jelly, even in one's dream.
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.
he thought that could ruin his life.
He wanted to go some place it seemed,
he asked her so, as if in a dream.
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.
him with his fire and passion untethered.
That one who could speak not but a word,
could make him mute, how absurd!
a pity sprang where there was none.
He yearned for naught, but a simple glance,
from that mute girl he met by chance.
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.
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.