Sonnet to Mark, The Sovereign's Voice

In council's hall, where speeches sharp are made,
Doth Mark, the bold, with voice of thunder rise.
His words, like arrows, through the air are laid,
And all who hear are caught in wise disguise.

A king of thought, he stands with steady hand,
To guide the fate of nations with his call.
Though whispers quake beneath his firm command,
His will, unbroken, ever towers tall.

Yet soft, the craft behind his fiery speech,
Is laced with power, subtle, deep, and sure.
Each phrase he forms, beyond the mind can reach,
A truth half-seen, yet spoken to endure.

So thus, like Caesar in his empire’s prime,
Mark weaves his words, a master of his time.