Lamentations on the End of an Empire

Lamentations on the end of an empire

I remember well the glories of the national capitals

on my homeworld. We knew so little of the galaxy

around us so recently--my great-nephews and nieces

will know more if they survive to see it. Would we

have been noticed if we had not built ships and

colonized other worlds? Would things have been

different if we had spurned all peace? Peace is a

fertile sword but breeds discontentment in the

fearful.

Here I stand now and I know that my homeworld is

taken and I have no forces to retake it. My sword-

arm is strong but their guns will pierce my armor.

My soldiers that I have led have been overwhelmed by

a dishonorable foe.

I would dance a sorrowful dance but there are so few

to enjoy it--I would dance to an absent audience.

Now I must write with this accursed pen--perhaps if

I had never learned to wield such a narrow

instrument, if I had never stepped away from the

postures and dance that was speech for my people, if

I had never learned to communicate with these

foreign people then.... But I know better. I must

express myself now with written words because the

dance is dead. No amount of hiding would have

stopped the rain from falling. I have been spared

but only to watch and to chronicle as my home and

people die.

I sometimes comfort myself with the thought that the

combined forces of others about the galaxy will

retake my planet and give it back to us. Yet,

though I believe that the Dominion in its deceit

will not survive--I couldn't conceive of its

survival--I also know that my homeworld with its

many dances and postures will never be the same, it

will never be home.