Diathim
Not everything is predictable in retrospect. Some twists of fate are miracles, that reinforce your belief in that golden decoction of life. Some are cruel mockeries of that selfsame grey corridor, blasphemies of truth and beauty.
But you never see them coming, all the same.
There once was a nine-year-old child on Tattooine, an angel who flitted amongst the saffron fires of the desert sands, who found ephemeral heaven under the searing heat of the planet's twin suns.
And like an angel flowering in innocence, he looked beyond the stinging dust and found dancing specks of light. He looked beyond the weathered lines and found a mother's pride.
He looked beyond the slavery
and found a vast expanse of stars.
stars where the seraphim of Iego played
where he would be free
free in the loneliness of space
from passion, anger, fear and hate
lost in knowledge, peace, serenity.
He dreamed that one day he would be watched over by an angel.
A princess of paradise
who offered him the comfort and solace
outside the Rim
inside the Republic
And one day that angel led him over the river of stars
led him with japor in her hand.
Anakin Skywalker died that day
died to Shmi
died for Padmé
but walked the roads of Eden
when he was nine and she fourteen
and the Force would set him free