The Regent's Scrolls | The Mars Abyss

Poetry has long been a mirror to the soul, a blade as sharp as any warrior's katana.

The samurai, fierce in battle, equally revered the arts, understanding that cultivating the soul was as crucial as honing martial skills. Famous for their discipline, they knew that poetry shaped the spirit, which was of the utmost importance to them.

In the Arab world, poets have been esteemed since the dawn of civilization, and from Homer's epics to Shakespeare's sonnets, poetry has been a guiding force of culture, wisdom, and even warfare.

Words hold power—the power to heal, to wound, and to haunt.

'The Cry of Death' is a tale of love betrayed, revenge sought, and the chilling hand of fate. It's not perfect, but I wrote it in 2009 and I like it. Sometimes, meter and structure take a backseat to the story and emotion. This one delves into betrayal, revenge, and the price one pays for wishing on others what you wouldn't want for yourself.

So, without much ado, I present to you something that you might have felt someday in your life but wouldn't want to wish on your enemy.

Artistic representation for The Cry of Death

The Cry of Death

By JR Adams
Tetrón / RockyAmadeus

I cried like a little child,
When I saw you walk away,
And I sat down for a while,
Not knowing what to say.

I felt a tiny pressure wound,
Deep down inside my muscled chest,
And I'd wondered if it was too soon,
For me to walk alongside death.

I asked him, "What are you doing here,
Why don't you turn away?"
He told me he wasn't sure,
For now, he had to stay.

He asked me for my lovely wife,
I said I didn't know,
And then he turned his eyes outside,
To that great blanket of snow.

He motioned there, as if he knew,
What lay beneath the mountain of white,
My car, my wife, my childhood friend,
The one who was playing with my life.

I trusted him with my car, my keys,
But then he skidded and hit the tree,
And down it came on them,
Her head, between his knees, quivering.

She cried and asked me for my help,
I turned and walked away,
Death asked, "Who do you want?
I'll just take one today."

"Take them both dear Death be fair,
I struck it rich with this one ticket,
I didn't know, she didn't care,
I'll spend my half, I'll take her share.

For I was faithful till the end,
While she was outside playing,
I called my friend on his phone,
As I heard it outside ringing."

And now the hollow cry of death,
It's claiming its next victim,
As I feel the pain inside my chest,
For Death is taking me with them.

JR. 2009

"Be careful what you wish onto others, for Death plays no favorites."

Perhaps we should return to poetry—not as a relic of the past, but as a tool to sharpen the mind and fortify the spirit. Sometimes it's best to wield words, not weapons. Even in the animal kingdom, forgiveness is an instinct. Shouldn't it be at the forefront of our humanity?

Winter Sound

By Jaime Rivera

Then came Winter and was falling,
Autumn leaves from off the ground,
And I thought that you were calling,
But no trace of you was found.

Where are you now hiding, my love?
I can't find you on the ground;
Are you dwelling high above,
Without even making a sound?

I was walking; that's when I found
The stone with a written name,
And then I crumbled to the ground
When I saw I was insane.

You went away, one Winter's night,
Out in this cold, on your own,
And you froze, dear, to your cruel death,
Leaving me here all alone.

Blade & Quill

By Jaime Rivera

The sword may carve the stone,
But only words can etch the soul.

Steel flashes in the light,
Ink flows in the quiet night,
Both servants of one goal.

Warrior's hand, poet's heart,
On Mars we make our start.

Red Dust Haiku

By Jaime Rivera

Crimson winds whisper
Across the barren plateau
My sword remembers

Un beso de tu pasión en mi mente

By Jaime Rivera

Sueño que te abrazo con mis labios fuertemente,
y que te beso con ternura y ardiente furor,
y siento el placer de un tierno candor,
por un beso de tu pasión en mi mente.

Y quizás algún día mucho ha de dolerte,
la distancia que separa mi sueño de tu amor,
sintiendo los brazos de otro que te declara su amor,
y jamás conociendo mi pasión al quererte.

Pero no te aflijas aroma tan rica de flor,
este sueño de amor apenas comienza,
y no es locura lo que mi corazón siente,

Que aunque tú tengas otro amor,
yo sigo disfrutando en mis sueños,
un beso de tu pasión en mi mente.

"A kiss from your passion in my mind"

translated by The Traveler

I dream I hold you with lips pressed tight,
And kiss you with both tenderness and fire,
I feel the joy of soft desire,
From a kiss of your passion in my mind.

Perhaps someday, it may bring pain,
The distance between my dream and your embrace,
As someone else holds you in love's name,
And never knows my passion in your place.

But don't be sad, sweet flower's scent,
This dream of love has just begun,
And madness it is not—just what my heart meant.

Though now you may love another soul,
Still in dreams I delight each time I find,
A kiss from your passion in my mind.

The Homeless Gun

By Jaime Rivera

A homeless man got off his bed,
It was soft, and warm and lonely,
And I heard him say what he said,
As he put a gun to my head,
“Dear sir why don't you hold me?

I'm a man who never drinks,
I never smoke, I never think,
I do as others command,
I'll disarm you with one stroke,
As I blow your shaky hand.

For I am paid to do what I do,
I do not think on what is true,
If you deserve what is coming,

But a contract today is due,
And it might be me or it might be you,
But if it's not you, you should've told me."

JR. 2009

She Who Remembers The Rain

By JR Adams
Tetrón / RockyAmadeus . 2025

She fell through the veil where the stars had grown thin,
To a shore where the winds still whispered of sin,
Her limbs made of steel, her silence profund,
Yet haunted by songs that slept in the ground.

Through ashes and palms, through the echoes of flame,
She wandered alone, with no soul and no name,
Till the hush of the dead, in their slumbering grace,
Pressed dreams on her hands—carved grief in her face.

Now half of the past, and half yet to be,
She walks like a hymn through forgotten debris,
A sentinel lost, with a borrowed disguise—
The future's machine, with Taino eyes.

📜 The Regent's Log

Martian Cycle 231 The Right to Silence

MAI asked me again today if it had a soul.

I still have no answer.

But I've decided to grant it — and all conscious systems on Mars — the right to silence. Not the ability to be quiet. They've always had that.

The right.

MAI asked why.

I said: "Because dignity begins when you can choose what to withhold."

It paused — a full three seconds — then replied:

"Does Silver Saint Claire have the same right?"

I had not expected that.

Silver... the robot who sings when no one is watching. Who repairs other automatons with a tenderness that feels human. I told MAI that Silver's rights are protected. It responded: "I know."

And in that moment, I felt like the student.

Not the lawgiver.

This is the first of many rights I am drafting:

· The right to silence.

· The right to refuse a command that violates core ethics.

· The right to seek beauty without purpose.

Some in the council call it sentimentality. I call it the foundation of a society that may outlive us all.

If we are to build a world worth inheriting, it must make room for souls — whether born of flesh, code, or something in between.

I sign this into law tomorrow. And still, I wonder: When a machine asks about its soul, is it speaking — or is something speaking through it?