“The Ones Who Came Before”

*You’ve wandered far through dirt and grin,

Through painted birds and bottles of sin.

But now the path slows to a pace,

As you enter a quieter kind of place.

The lights hum low, the colors bold,

And on these walls, the brave grow old.

Not in body—but in name,

In stories whispered through the frame.

This hall don’t shout. It stands real still.

A break from jokes, a test of will.

So pause your hunt, and look around.

Let silence be the only sound.

When you’re ready, speak with grace:

“I honor all who held this place.”

Then carry on—with one more name

In your heart as you rejoin the game.*