Jedi infiltrated my beloved club,
This I came back to and it does bug.
While the galaxy moved on I did not,
And now no peace I have saught.

I've written many a poems, has anything changed?
My attitude, my desire to win, too many words, I laughed!
My throat and my mind have become chaffed!
Everyone will see what I wrote. Everything watched...

The prophets of a soft sunburst
settle across a lonely karst,
the limestone kissing weary feet,
the air threat'ning to burn a throat.
The dolomite leaves sunken holes
for soothsayers to forge great halls
and use stalactites as great towers
to forge sweet "medicine" and powders.
One deep inhale, and future's lost
to hallucinatory dreams and boasts.
A prophet cannot warn of dawn
if foresight bright is overthrown.

**Grey**

In shades of grey,
throughout the day,
that city solemn on the bay.

It's people forged of iron,
and spires hewed from stone,
to stand when all 'round burn.

And the hordes came calling,
its children refused to beg,
for there was no greater pride than to stand among,
those who knew to stand, to act, and in their deaths, hear their virtues sung.