Master Of Pens

Listen, listen to the tale of a fraudWho stole control of mightier than swordsHe sat at the back of a literature class,motivations now lost but he wanted to passPerhaps it was the lady at the end of the linePerhaps it was his innate craving for shineSo he penned down a piece prepared in advanceSpoken in his voice but by another man's handSafe in the knowledge the poet was obscureApplause rang out but teacher wasn't so sureAs the crowd dispersed she called him asideShe said he did not write this "I did" he liedBitter sweet was it; applause and wounded prideHe would earn her acclaim he could not be deniedIn the days since then he has tried to proveJust as much to himself as it is to youThat there was no untruth in the early acclaimEverything he wrote after then was from his brainHe became a great orator a leader of menImmortal even dead as the master of pens