I beg you concede that this ponderous deed
Is done through steadfast foolhardiness indeed!
Had you once questioned how through your satisfaction
You might come later to suffer consequences of action?
No! I shall not remain complacent, choiceless
Voiceless but for speaking words of your placement
Take your life in your hands; give it not to fate
I think then you shall see truth in this debate

You cannot tell me you've passed
Time after time through the last
Regions of your mind, fast
Treading through thoughts
Pondering pond'rances overgrown with moss
Still not grasping fully the measure of cost
The magnitude of that which you will have lost

Realize, you must stop.

The risks you are taking
The bridges you're forsaking
The laws you are breaking
The lives you are placing
In peril
Truly, this is disaster in the making

And he turned, and he smiled
Rolled off the tip of his tongue
Words proudly resonating
"Thank you, my son."

Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Mayan, in the year 326 AF.