I wrote this because, as the title says, it was better than swearing for the better part of an hour.
On the Passing of a Friend
There is no joy in fears fulfilled,
in seeing our fragility confirmed
by crumpled metal, respirators,
and IV feeds.
There is no comfort to be found
in fury, seething, directionless;
in resignation and exhaustion
amidst the frigid light of dawn.
Once we crafted armies,
forged steel titans, gave life
to mechanical Turks, which feigned
cooperation as they iterated through
their rote instructions.
Once, we laughed, defiant,
as our work was slain and we were flung
to all the corners of the world.
Now there is no laughter left;
no triumph to be had
in funeral games, no solace
in dirges and libations.
And as you pass into the dark
threading the twisty paths of Erebus,
may you recall, before all memory fades,
that you were loved.