In flowing script on paper's plane,
A legion of almighty words,
Like signs of woven ink, ordain
The turning fates of worlds.

A chain of words, a whispered vow,
Each falling to its place in line,
And with each stroke, unseen, somehow,
The Master's power starts to shine.

What he inscribes with skillful hand,
At that same moment, on that day,
Becomes the truth across the land:
The Master of the Word holds sway.

His lines, like incantations bright,
With fire that can never cease,
The Master plays with dark and light
Upon his parchment masterpiece.

And in his ink, a midnight deep,
Where endless, ancient shadows throng,
A power never seen does sleep,
Made real and potent by the song.

The Word, his passion and his art,
The very essence of his soul,
The Master plays a god-like part
Upon his parchment, fates are scrolled.