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Log #18262

07/03/3180

Facing a wall,

eyes that look down to the cold floor.

A projection of an image.

Their army entered Station 4.

To the downbeat,

My cerulean nerves vibrate.

The chaotic out of sync march

brings back the blank slate.

Rose-pink glares, all caught unaware,

witness ribbons come curtain-call.

They’ll arrive within the hour

facing a wall.

The First Officer Jan Allett, traitor.

Faith in the forgotten. Once used,

now using.

Signs of power, a beam diffused.