This is a relic of a notebook belonging to Sergeant Garret J. Lysander. The front cover is black as is the back, and partially curled inwards, and the notebook's spine is noticeably frayed at its edges. The pages are old but not yellowed. Some have stains, however, of bronze and reddish brown hues, reminiscent of once-caked dirt or even blood. Some are stiff as if dried over, though the penmanship upon these pages is still relatively legible compared to the rest. The penmanship itself is simple and thickly done, spaced at a natural pace. The words are not rushed.
Though the words are done in a simplistic and at eased pacing, the sentence structure is at times broken or disjointed. The poetry runs in two columns on some pages or simply with a left or right alignment. Some pages are empty save for expansive grey-white areas. It's an unconventional means in that most standards of modern poetry are broken. The dates listed in the top inner corner of some of the pages are pre-Warday, but most explore the time Sergeant Lysander was on Sagittaron post-Warday. Almost everything questions the Lords of Kobol in one way or another. Almost everything is written from a first-person, informal perspective.
One of the excerpts is as follows:
17 Apr 2041
Serenity Bereft
We were broken, all of us.
One by one, two by two, however many,
We knew we would die on this forsaken ground, regrettably,
This degenerative wasteland, radioactive ash,
We all came to that conclusion, just like that, in a flash,
And the flies, so many flies, buzzing around our heads,
And up above, sometimes, you could see birds circling the dead,
The sickly heat, the pallid rain, the coarse air, serenity bereft of our squad,
And on his knees, one of us called out to the Gods.
No one answered.
No one answered!
No one answered?
As we returned to our march, I asked myself,
I asked why the silence was necessary.
Restlessly so, so breathlessly, all of us, asked why.