Entry 21
Through hallowed stone, I dwell alone,
A heart encased in walls of stone.
Cast out, shamed, my spirit torn,
A life of naught, regret is born.I gave it all, yet here I stand,
In misery’s unyielding land.
No solace found, in love or cheer,
The echoing void is all I hear.The years have passed, my hope has died,
A hollow shell, all warmth denied.
For loyalty, what did I reap?
A sorrow that won’t let me sleep.In darkness now, my soul confined,
A wretched fate, a shattered mind,
To ever yearn, yet never find,
The peace that eludes my tortured mind.All I wanted was to be happy for once.
It’s been a long time since it’s been added to, and is no longer found in any quarters at the Enclave.
Entry 22
Been a while since I wrote here. I look back at these poems now a new person. No longer a Jedi, but I’m not ashamed of that. That life is behind me.A Darth slain, the Son of Mortis banished, the Purebloods discovered. Vennar, saved from the Empire. Arcadia captured. The Four killed. Quinn saved, both by surviving Taris’ bombardment and then by discovering Ragnos’ possession before too much damage could be done (rest in peace, Rem, you will never be forgotten).
Despite all the pain, I look back and realize that for all I had to endure, I made it through, with the help of my friends. So many friends, Viscara has been beyond welcoming and I’m very grateful to them all for helping that overly-formal padawan that crash landed here months ago crawl out of her shell.
I wrote a poem, a bit self-congratulatory but I’ll try to set aside my bad habits of excessive self-criticism for a bit.
In shadows deep, I wandered lost,
Through trials, storms, at great cost.
But in my heart, a fire burned,
A relentless will, as I yearned.To overcome the darkest night,
I fought the battles, with all my might.
Through pain and doubt, I pressed ahead,
Guided by the Light, I wasn’t misled.With each step forward, I found my way,
Breaking free from night’s cold sway.
The dawn approached, a brand new start,
I felt the warmth within my heart.No longer bound by fear’s cruel chain,
I soared above, like a bird set free,
In charting paths unmarked by pain,
I found the truest, strongest me.Now in the light, I proudly stand,
A victor in life’s shifting sand.
The battles won, the darkness fled,
I’ll follow where my dreams have led.So if you find yourself in strife,
Know that you can change your life.
Through courage, strength, and heart so bold,
You’ll overcome, your story told.
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Entry 23
Screw poetry for a day.I let my emotions get the best of me. It hurt someone I care about. It also hurt a lot of people I don’t care about, but I’m not proud of that.
I was just so angry. For months I’ve been just the Corpswoman. For good reason. I know I’m unstable, I know I’m reckless. I was trying to be better.
I tried reaching out, I begged for help. No help came.
I thought it was all my fault, that I was just a failure. I guess I was. Then I find out they’re all just as bad as I am. They put me through that hell, drove my padawan away, and in the end they were just as flawed.
So I demanded an apology. I threatened for one. Stupid. So fucking stupid. I shouldn’t have done that. Now Endra’s heartbroken. Damn it.
Mirianna and Vol’Kari both say it’s because I’m difficult to talk to. Vol’Kari’s words were that I’m draining. Mirianna said everything turns into a screaming match. I didn’t know I was like that.
I guess in hindsight so much of what I’ve found myself thrust into, or wandered into, does turn into everyone having to pick up the pieces. I should be more self sufficient.
But damn it, so often in the past they were telling me to let others in. I stopped bottling it all up and tried to let others in. Then they see that and now I’m draining? The fuck am I supposed to do?
I’d like to see any of them do better. I’d like to see them have their mind broken like shattered glass, have to experience death or severing from the Force. I’d like to see how they fare learning what I did about Revan. How they’d do being possessed by the Son of Mortis. How would they handle things knowing that Malak has taken an active interest in hunting them down? How would they cope with an active and ongoing genocide against their people?
How would they handle all of that, along with having to watch one’s own master assault someone they love, hurting them after ignoring you for over a month, just to see if it gets under your skin? How would they handle all of that along with the joy and light from their own padawan’s eyes fading away as they’re harassed by your peers, who refuse to tell you a damn thing about why they’re criticizing your own student?
Fuck you, Vosca.
I’d take back what I sent to Vosca if I could. Too late for that. Too late for me to get better or amend things. What’s done is done.
It’s kind of poetic, though… That was my last attempt at reaching out to them. In the end, they’d prefer to broadcast their sins to the Masters rather than actually say a damn thing to me. I’d resolved not to tell the High Council of a damn thing but they went off on their own and reported it themselves.
After all I did for them, all I’ve sacrificed to protect them, it doesn’t mean a damn thing. They want nothing to do with me.
It’s a damn mess, I’ve burned a lot of bridges, and just about everyone around Veles seems to hate me now.
Way too late to say sorry. Maybe I should just leave.
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Thalia lay in bed with her datapad in hand, typing away as she often did. Scraps of poetry, which for a change were composed with a smile on her face. Stringing the words together line by line, rhyme by rhyme, and often just deleting the whole thing to start anew as she got some other idea.
Then she stopped. At the nightstand, her communicator beeped. High priority message? Damn, so much for a quiet night.
Reaching over, she answered, and at the room’s center a device hummed. Particulates of matter coalescing into the shape of a fellow Miraluka by means of some tractor array. Her people’s equivalent of a hologram.
Thalia’s peace that night was shattered as she heard the words spoken by the woman, then the sound of a lightsaber, and finally the words of Retchis.
She hung up the comms partway through Retchis’ message to her. Maybe that would irritate the Sith Lord, a noted control freak, maybe not, but listening to another monologue wasn’t important.
Silent throughout all this, datapad still in hand, she erased what had been a draft of a celebratory poem about her and Mire’s future together, and pens a few other words.
Entry 24
Teio and Hesiod go on and on about how they “Can’t win with us.” How they are distrusted no matter what they do.Then their peers do things like this.
I tried not to tell Sidonia anything, other than my name. She had no actual intel to give Retchis. I simply told her to keep hope alive, because help was coming.
I can’t in honesty say I’m surprised it ended like this for her, though. I figured she was either a spy or sure to die soon. She gave us the coordinates for a ship that turned out to be a Centurion, after all. I’m both relieved and filled with grief at the turn of events.
Now the Luka Sene are down to 11 on Alpheridies, likely the other survivors were also rounded up and killed just as Sidonia was. Other than Selu’var, is anyone left?
This execution, I have to keep in mind, may be based on his research of my name. Reckless, unstable, emotional. Prone to wild ventures. He’s trying to elicit an emotional response. I won’t let him. My plan remains the same. In fact, strategically, this works to my advantage. He won’t be expecting my next move. All he’s doing is desperately trying to claw back the initiative.
I hate that I have to think like this. Strategy, tactics, wargaming everything, where people are an asset, a number, and not the wonderful individuals they really are. Sidonia’s death, as horrifying as it is, for me mainly means the loss of an informant.
This war is numbing me to tragedy. Is this how the previous owner of my robes felt, I wonder?
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