This orator,
His words are stout yet beautiful,
Vigorous yet codling,
They are forts for good people,
They form bridges to understanding,

A maestro of the spoken word,
His tongue orders charges of sonic armies,
At such decibel,
As to wake even the dead,
And crack the sky,

We all hear him,
And witness his war on the silence,
His syllables the troops,
His words the tanks,
His utterances commence artillery strikes,

The still is the enemy of learning,
The quiet a cruel dictator,
To stop would invite the enemy back,
The icy silence,
So he cries ever on.

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