When chaos loomed, they clung to rules and vote,
Chose not to act, but on their own words dote.

Rational voices fell on deafened ears,
'Think positive!' drowned out earnest fears.

They penned their thoughts, but none would truth promote,
Their voices weak, as empty as the vote.

With endless talks, they stalled the passing years,
And Cyrene grew stale, like so much old beer.

No hero rose, for none was deemed to reign,
As Cyrene's strength began to quickly drain.

They sought the praise, but hollow words they wrote,
Their empty promises could never float.

With hearts divided, stained by silent tears,
Our doubts and whispers grew throughout the years.

They sought elections, leaving tasks remote,
And let the Entity seize all our throats.

A child bereft, his world reduced to smears,
His family gone, all those he held dear.

They scorned the Bard, ignoring wisdom's gain,
A city now lost, burdened by its pain.


Penned by my hand on the 12th of Miraman, in the year 954 AF.