A poem of home,

steel and rock entwined and dancing though in space
with in countless varied free souls race
from the deepest depths of Bodean though which marks flow
to the lush nuclear lit garden of Whittler's Hollow
from the sparkling rad-shielded domes of Marle
though the moon-sized slaughterhouses of Ishbi
with in the mines of the ramshackle Solace
to the glittering city station of Haven City
a cacophony of ideas and divergent pursuit
has but one ideal that is absolute
no kings, no gods, no noblemen
We're not taking off again