Goodbye, dear one, my friend, my confidant—
You knew me well, better than I knew you.
You listened while I talked, bared my dark soul,
Without judgment or contempt—just silence.
You soaked me in, absorbed my rambling thoughts,
Consumed my anger, never gave it back.
Though you were a battle-scarred knight with wounds
That had ravaged your body, caused you pain,
You spoke little of your own afflictions.
Instead, you listened, you heard what I said,
Did not dismiss me as silly or crazed
As others have done. You truly listened!
You gave unconditional love, my friend,
Wanting nothing in return but my love.
And I failed you, though you said you failed me.
You are gone now, off to a better place.
Some call it heaven, I call it sweet peace.
I hope your soul mate, whom death snatched away
Before it took you, waits with a smile and
A hand to lead you home, that elusive
Place you had searched for most of your hard life.
Goodbye, dear one, until we meet again.
©️2021 KT Workman
Dedicated to my “partner in poetry” who passed away recently.
(Note: blank verse poetry does not rhyme, and is written in iambic pentameter. It has a consistent meter with 10 syllables per line, where unstressed syllables are followed by stressed ones.)
Image by Tumisu from Pixabay
When we left the city, there had been seventy-three of us. Now we were nineteen.
And the armadogs were closing in.
The armadogs were silent stalkers. They didn’t howl or bark like their biological counterparts, and unless they were close, you couldn’t hear them. Their big, spongy footpads absorbed sound on both grass and dirt. They communicated with each other and their controllers via Service-Web, and humans had never had access to Service-Web. Why would we need or want to know all the mundane details that kept our workers working?
Darcy fell into step beside me. “Jimmy says they’re less than four hundred meters behind,” she said. “We need to find a place we can defend, Shelia.”
I glanced at her face, a pale smudge in the grey, early-morning light. The bandage around her head was seeping blood again. But no time now to stop and change it.
“How much firepower do we have left?” I asked, not breaking the fast trot we had been moving at most of the night.
“Two flame pistols still have a charge. And one scrambler, but it’s low. A few grenades. We have tons of bullets, but well, you know…”
Yes, I knew. Bullets rarely stopped an armadog. “Be on the lookout for a place to take cover. And tell Jimmy to let me know when they’re within two hundred meters.” Then we would have to make a stand regardless. Continue reading Flying
friends walk away
pass you by
you don’t know why
what did you do
what did you say
is it your fault
they act this way
never drop by
not there to catch you
if you stumble and fall
ones who loved you
turn their backs
don’t care to see you
take it as fact
they promised forever
to be your friend
but that didn’t happen
time to stamp “the end”
©️2019 KT Workman
Photo via Pixabay