A poem of doubts, dilemmas, and paradox; but not without it's own ray of hope.
He is a leader in a war without end -
Nobody knows when this war began -
Yet as he gazes upon the stars, he wonders,
absently, if there is a way to find a conclusion...
All the years of his existence;
a soldier in this never ending war...
Never has there been a time where there was peace -
and he wonders why...
The stars lose their glimmer,
and he turns away from them in deep thought.
Why did this war begin?
He wonders sadly...
Will there ever be an end?
CAN there ever be an end,
when so much hatred exists between our groups?
He shakes his head, for the answer is not known...
As he walks, Autobots look upon him suspiciously...
He knows many of them blame him
for the death of Optimus Prime.
Unjustly they condemn him;
but worst of all, he blames himself...
Guilt plagues his mind,
when he alone should have a clear conscience...
He is the leader
in an unending war –
And honestly, he is tired.
Tired of the fighting,
tired of the hatred...
Tired of his own existence...
Why did the Matrix choose me?
Others may have been better suited!
I always tended to slack off in the stiff duties –
fishing with Daniel or maybe just thinking...
But now... Now all depends upon me.
The safety of the universe rests upon my shoulders;
and oh – it is just too heavy...
Being the Chosen of the Matrix was never my desire...
But then maybe, he thinks,
Just maybe that's why I was chosen.
Because I wanted simplicity
and peace – had no ambition
for power or glory...
Well... Maybe I did want glory just a little...
Once... But not anymore.
All I want now is the simplicity
that once was –
That simplicity of being Hot Rod,
when nobody needed me
or blamed me for things
I myself regret deeper then any of they.
He leans against the wall,
his optics shrouded in shadow.
Oh, if there was but relief!
An end to this madness!!
If only there were a clear resolution,
a simple way to end this unstable existence...
He shakes his head sadly, for it is not so easy!
He looks across the plains of Cybertron;
troubled in everything...
Oh, Matrix! Is there no solution at all?
In all of this time, are we no closer to achieving an end?
Surrender was not an option –
He froze, mind working –
Or was it?
A shadow crossed again over his optics...
Were the Autobots to surrender to the Decepticons...
But no – !
he mustn't think of such things!...
Even still – would if they were wrong in their believing?
Would if it was naught but pride –
borne by both Autobot and Decepticon
in all of the years
that had fueled the war,
And since neither had ever wanted to admit defeat,
the war had needlessly continued –
and for what purpose?
All the fighting had been in vain.
It had all ever been in vain!
Never had anything good come out of the war.
Only sorrows and sufferings
or form of resolution...
Cybertron's Unicron moon hovered over the planet,
sending a chill down Rodimus' spine.
Oh, that moon! It's empty sockets
always brought the bad memories flooding back!
Unicron had been frightening
and something evil without equal,
but even his face was not as cruel
as Rodimus' own reflection.
When he looked at himself in the mirror,
he would glare at the image of himself
and gaze into the sorrowful optics,
searching within the emptiness
only to find himself left with more questions...
Never was there an end to it all.
Never would there be an end, he had come to believe.
He was suffocating, despite the fact
that Transformers did not even breathe.
He turns away from the view
and stares into the darkness of space.
He longs for a way,
for an answer
He misses Hotrod's presence,
that carefree youth of his past...
Where have you gone?
Why have you left me to such a fate?
He feels himself tremble with emotion,
and knows that there is no one who understands
the feelings that haunt
every inch of his being.
He feels himself cry out,
give forth a broken scream into the night,
only no sound escapes his lips,
and he feels that he is to die
from everything that is locked up inside of him.
Sound is caught within his throat
and he feels it trapped within,
aching with great pain,
trying so hard to escape.
He gives out a defeated whisper,
Someone, save me please –
save me from this fate,
from this weight on my soul
that never leaves me be...
And then Rodimus does
something that few of his kind can do.
Rodimus Prime, leader of Cybertron -
Tears, real and full of anguish
flow from his optics,
something so foreign to
a being of metal flesh.
He has often seen Daniel cry -
but does not realize that
Transformers were not meant
to ever cry.
Vector Sigma created not
the ability in them to
shed tears of any kind,
but Rodimus was young and did not
know this to be the case.
Crying was human,
but Transformers were no longer
but something else entirely.
They loved, and hated
and hurt, and felt burdens
and suffered and harbored regret
and longed for things they could never have.
Rodimus, chosen of the Matrix,
Hero of the Cybertronian Wars,
current Prime and defender of the Galaxies -
does not feel any love for himself.
He believes that should he be gone –
If only I had died in Optimus' stead!
Things would be better – as they should be.
Only the Prime does not understand
that the Matrix makes everything as it should be.
He must learn to forgive himself,
and trust in the Matrix that is his.
Only it is so hard when one is alone
with nobody who understands your plight.
Oh Matrix, he prays,
please help me...
I can't do this...
Oh, Prime, I can't do this!!!
Words can no longer be spoken,
and he is all but overwrought with
feelings that are
trapped within his soul.
He is lost within his own feelings,
in great darkness.
He may have lit the darkest hour -
but was there anything that would light his?
He was losing sight of
all that truly mattered.
He was loathing the Matrix,
loathing every bit of the burden that was his.
The contempt borne for himself
showed through to everyone around him
and everybody believed wrongly that
he took nothing seriously, was heartless,
and unfit to lead.
Oh! If only they but knew!
If only they could but hear the cries he uttered
that lie within every glance of his
If only they saw that every wise crack
was but a front, was but a cry
for help, a way to cope with situations
that he struggled to face.
It is not that he is unfit to lead.
It is that no one gives him the chance.
There is nobody that will forgive him,
nobody who will trust him.
There is nobody that understands
that he needs support,
and that only through the love of others
can he learn to love and accept himself.
Only once they come to accept him
can he learn to trust in the Matrix' choice –
only they cannot learn to trust him if
they believe him to be incompetent,
a misunderstanding gained from his pains
which they mistake for weakness
Oh, but how wrong they are!
A cycle they dwell in,
a war within the ranks
of the Autobots,
a mirror of the battle in which
they wage with the Decepticons.
They cannot trust Rodimus until
he trusts himself.
And yet Rodimus cannot trust himself
until others come to trust in him.
The war cannot end until
a compromise is made,
and yet neither side is willing
Wars without end,
within and without,
when can they find it within their sparks
to trust one another?
When will they find it within their sparks...
Time continues on, and things seem not to
But the Matrix glows within
the saddened Prime,
and it listens to his cries of pain,
and it glows ever brighter.
It is working every moment,
unseen by all – misunderstood.
Yet it knows what is right –
and it heeds Rodimus' call.
Slowly but surely,
the Matrix in it's own subtle way
sets about a chain reaction,
that is sure to heal the broken leader,
as well as the broken world.
Silently, when no one is looking,
a means to end the war
begins to take form.
Invisible at present,
it will be known to all at the right time.
And one day soon,
will come to know and understand
the Matrix –
as well as himself.
And that day will be
known through out all the land
as the day when all are one,
for no longer will strife exist –
only solutions to the problems with no solution
and all will be made right.
There will be no more sorrow or grief or disillusion for
all will be one.... And never will it be parted asunder.