That day I woke up, wakened
By my butler telling me
"They are dead. They are gone."
My parents died; killed by
Some alien power, some 'Flux'
That no one can explain.
In my dreams I was the Quick Defender,
Hero to the people, drunk on glory.
In my dreams, I did no wrong.
I told him it's all right, that
Sometimes heroes make
Mistakes; they're only human.
The voice was quiet, removed.
I loved them enough that I
Could not hate their killer.
He told me: "No, it is an alien.
A monster," and stories
Of the Harf invasion of '62
ground under his words.
I remembered those stories.
I grew up with tales of loss,
With the hate; victim
Of his fear. I am afraid
Of Flux, of the alien, of
Things I do not grok.
A hero conquers fears.
But the wise man destroys them.
In my dreams, now, I am
Quiet, conquering even death.
I Have no tears.
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