From nothing to a leader of men;
From nowhere to the halls of kings;
From a humble hamlet born,
He rose to all that fortune can bring.
Brilliant in his chosen field,
He played by gut and instinct;
Never flinched from the heat of battle,
But one could sense was detached within.
He has seen the heights of success,
He has plumbed the depths of failure;
Neither seemed to matter much,
Through it all he held his head.
He wears his fame as a cloak,
To be snatched or discarded at will.
Whether he quit or was asked to go,
We do not know, perhaps never will.
He is lord of all he surveys,
Not just because of money and fame.
He is never loath to walk away.
Such a man is always king.
The price of glory is heavier still,
If it's others' rules you've to obey.
What use is fame if it also brings,
The greed to live on another day?
He continues, on another stage,
So long as he is able and wills;
Don't know if it will be the same,
Except to him, for whom all things are one.
31 December, 2014
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