Sitting in the Dark
By Michael G
Published 17 September 2014
My trustful old friends lying at death's door.
Sad, lonely, soul-less on the floor.
If they could but wish, or find a clover...
I love them both, sadly their time is all but over.
Broken forms, wasting away.
We were having so much fun, just the other day.
Their decomposing carcasses, that rotting smell.
Like a demon stalking me from the depths of hell.
Those friends of mine.
They saved me from the cold
Dear friends one time,
on their way to getting old.
Tongues hanging out, like a tired old dog,
Begging for a run, "One last time, one last slog."
They did their job, to the end.
I am happy to have called them my friend.