Woven in tears of collected misgivings
for his voice never to be heard in the halls
of man, just echoes of nothingness.

For he was a fiction of man, fed through mouths
never one his own, for courts jested verses of
there needing not those repeated and reversed.

Words are power in anyone's hand, the tonged syllables
are hypnotic in a wrong mans purse. Listen to knowledge
and fact, falsehood is a serpent biting back.