Tommy's words

 Let me tell you a tale, if you'll allow me the time
I'll tell it with flair, I'll tell it in rhyme!
A tale of a fellow in a difficult scrape
A tale of a fellow with an uncertain fate

Known as Thomas, Tommy boy, or Tom
Who realised one day that his words were the bomb
That he could, with a mere uttering of sound
Blow someone away in a way most profound

(He was reckless, our Tom, it was always his undoing
It didn't matter if it was money or a girl he was wooing
Once he figured out a rule he'd set it in stone
Forgetting any other life lesson he'd known)

So Tommy went to bars, and Tommy plied a trade
Displaying his words and leaving victims dismayed
For his golden voice could often sooth a fighter
Or charm someone to leaving with their pockets lighter

But one day the day came, as it would always do
When Tommy would have to pay his due
His friends gathered round, sensing the hour
That Tommy would pay for his gathering of power

Would he be bested by some superior words?
To strike Tommy boy until he was interred?
Perhaps someone who couldn't hear at all?
Leaving Tommy exposed and bound to fall?

Well, these were good guesses, but all missed the mark
For it was Tommy himself who would light the spark
For he had engaged in a battle of phrases
With someone who only wanted to sing Tom's praises

"I've the best lexicon, no one could ever match me
There's no limits to what my words would allow me to be!"

    "You're very right, dear Tom. You speak the truth!"
    "You could do the profession of everyone under this roof!"

"Of course I could, for the world is just lines
And I've got the best, so I'd be just fine!"

As he spoke, Tom gestured strongly
Although maybe I should say he gestured wrongly
See Tom didn't notice as one hand knocked over a candle
Because his other hit his firefighter friend with a tankard handle

The fire took hold, and like Tom's words they spread
And while Tommy turned his tail and fled
Turning only once he was on safe ground
He realised his friends were no where to be found

Tom stood rooted, coming to terms with the bravery he lacked
He tried to aid once or twice, but just as quickly backtracked
When his comrades emerged he celebrated without refrain
A euphoric moment, despite the concussion obtained

But later, when they would come together again
They would remember that evening, they'd remember when
Tommy boy was unable to live up to the reputation he'd built
For though the right words can have a gorgeous lilt

Do not forget, dear reader, what gives words their power
What makes them more than a light sonorous shower
What gives stories the morals and poetry its appeal
It is our actions, my friend, that make our words real