As this poem wasn't directed at its complete audience originally, I decided to post it again so that its message might be better understood.

Must it be war?
A tsol'aa of the Aalen builds a home
The paths of the forest we freely roam
To tread and make a path is no crime
Surely we can do it well, given time

Must it be fire?
There are ways to forge a path without flame
A careful tending, then no one's to blame
Stone of earth, good packed dirt are of Her
If we band together, we can make a fine work

Must it be hate?
Nothing good ever comes from spite
Maybe listen, none of us truly know right
We simply try to do the best we can
With what very little we hope to understand

Must it be this way?
Can we set aside our useless pride?
Can we work alongside?
Or must it be?

Penned by my hand on the 16th of Valnuary, in the year 756 AF.