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This race without a home. |
| This race without a place. He | |
| no longer cares enough to | |
| think great thoughts from lofty | |
| heights. Can you see the | |
| circle closing, winding down | |
| it's spiral? Eons overdue. | |
| Tenacity like a trail of slime | |
| behind them as they go. All | |
| this robotic searching for that | |
| which is never there, ever |
| elusive, always just over that |
|
| next horizon or in the | |
| Branzinni Quadrant of Alpha | |
| Two. Some lay down and die, | |
| but as a whole they stumble | |
| on. An ugly cosmic joke. Tiny, | |
| frail, not strong at all. Puny by | |
| any Celestial scale, so small. | |
| It would really be quite | |
| amusing if it weren't so pitiful. | |
| How they creep and die, |
|
| die and creep. Breaking all |
| Universal Laws by getting |
| everywhere and nowhere all |
| at once. Throughout all of |
| time have they held their |
| banners. Bearing their |
| mottoes of racial purpose in |
| all the countless languages |
| they've stolen and raped from |
| throughout the Cosmos. |
| "Life Is Cruel!" They cry from |
|
| ramparts by the millions. And | |
| then they struggle on. The | |
| obvious futility blinded to | |
| them by some omnipresent | |
| curse laid down upon them | |
| somewhere in time | |
| immemorial. How many | |
| brilliant races of beings have | |
| too late learned the | |
| incongruities on which this | |
| wretched race feeds, only to | |
| be befriended and then | |
| destroyed from within. "Rape, | |
| pillage and plunder," their | |
| battle cry has ever been. |
