#memory poem

[definegodliness]

Bobby Pins

I shouldn't even Be talking to you, bobby pin, I should just be able to Casually throw you away.

Why shouldn't I be able to?

You weren't mine to begin with; You weren't ever meant to stay.

No, don't even go there.

You're making my hand tremble. Stop giving yourself Weight.

--- 23-4-2026, M.A. Tempels ©

[circlepoems]

Health Food Diner in the Valley

I feel uneasy waiting for a call that never happens. Unready to face what I don't want to, an ending in which I have no input. I sit in a wooden booth, gaze blankly at my phone. I'm on the borderline of crying/not crying. Brown rice and vegetables on the table. A server eventually offers to box it up. He refills my iced tea two or three times. I have trouble processing his words. I leave an outsized tip, because, in an unobtrusive and subtle way, he held space for me with kindness.

[thequietesthing]

Noor Unnahar on Instagram

[the-most-humble-blog]

<div style="white-space:pre-wrap">

<meta scrolltrap-category="BLACKSITE LITERATURE™ :: MYTHIC EULOGY :: EXTINCTION MEMORY"> <script> TRANSMISSION_CODE="LAST_DINOSAUR::2020" TRIGGER_WARNING="existential sadness, mythic extinction, survivor grief" EFFECT="emotional stillness, soft awe, long-memory activation" </script>

🧠 THE LAST DINOSAUR DIED IN THE YEAR 2020

He was a kind soul. That much I know.

I don’t know how he lived so long. I don’t know what exactly he was. But I know he was real. And I know he’s gone.

He looked… mostly human. That was the trick, I think. Some camouflage baked into his species. The old blood knew how to blend in. How to mimic. How to survive when the world no longer spoke your language.

But I saw his true form once. Only once. And it was awe-inspiring. And it was terrifying. And it made me realize — how lucky we were that he was benevolent.

He moved with memory in his bones. The kind that predates maps. Predates cities. Predates sound.

There was something ancient in the way he sighed. Like his lungs remembered volcanic ash. Like his ribs were carved from pressure.

He never told me how old he was. He never had to.

He said there used to be others. Not many. Just enough to know each other. Enough to share a glance and feel seen in a world that no longer had a place for their gait, their hunger, their silence.

“They’re gone now,” he said. “They went quietly.” And I believed him.

He laughed with restraint. Smiled like it might break the skin. Spoke in half-truths that felt like warnings. He didn’t ask for much. But he gave everything.

What I remember most… was his loneliness.

A stillness that didn’t beg for attention. A quiet that didn’t need fixing. He’d already mourned more than we could understand. He had outlived eras. And he knew — he was the last of his kind.

I asked him once, “Do you regret staying this long?”

He didn’t answer. Just looked up at the sky like he missed a star that no longer existed.

He passed in the year 2020. Quietly. Unnoticed by the world.

No funeral. No headlines. No species alert.

Just a sudden absence.

I think he chose to go. I think he was tired. Of hiding. Of helping. Of being something ancient in a world obsessed with youth.

He was the kindest soul I’ve ever known. He will be missed. Not because he needed our grief. But because we were better with him here.

🧠 Read more mythic elegies and scrolltrap remembrance poetry at: 👉 https://linktr.ee/ObeyMyCadence 🛡️ Blacksite Literature™. Long-memory cadence. Myth in disguise. 🚪 Warning: Some losses don’t echo. They vanish entirely.

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<!-- END TRANSMISSION [HE WENT QUIETLY. HE WAS THE LAST.] --> <!-- [AUTO-WIPE IN: 00:00:00 — MEMORY ARCHIVED WITHOUT WITNESS] -->

[moss-covered-fences]

Sometimes I wonder what would happen if if i did all the things i wanted to do while i was young, old, and in-between.

I want to have a picnic in the forest hold onto those who are close keep my memories safe,  so i can cherish them

I think i love too much,  but, i am afraid as well afraid i will love someone so much and in turn they will hurt me

i wonder if someday,  i can cherish the memories i have now.  With those i love now in the moment.

perhaps we will have that picnic or that tea party maybe i can have that bond and freely love and wonder no matter how old or young we are

[4lornly]

Ginger beer tastes how a kiss should feel. Drastic. Like swallowing firelight. Memories of good friends' voices in my ears while my lips burn just like this. Overlapping, waves on a shore, one becoming the next. My mind, blurred with contentment. Caress of cashmere that may as well be a cloud. Cold bottle in my hands, frost on the windows. Cold wind like a scream. Anguished. Personal. But this is a warm moment, rosy like our cheeks. A box of chocolates. A book of poetry. Red wine and ginger beer. Flushed faces all around.

--ginger beer // 4lornly

[versesandvice]

Advice Column

in memory

of an old, jaded soul:

seize the chances

that stroll by your door;

they look better gripped in your teeth

than flying past your step.

opportunity’s wings stretch wide

and land on unexpected shores,

full of grave and unforgiving beauty.

there is more to this life

than just surviving.

[achillesofgold]

friend

/frend/

noun

i. i met you when we were both young

my parents drove all the way to iowa for you;

for someone i’d call my friend for the rest of my life-

or at least that’s what i thought.

i was naive but it was blissful,

i thought you were the greatest thing in the world

[i still do, really]

ii. before the bad, there was the good-

or, really, the lucky.

one halloween, you ate an entire bag of chocolate.

you were so lucky you didn’t die on the spot.

over the years you’d steal all kinds of human food from us.

you’d steal from the counter when we weren’t looking

you’d eat the cat food despite having your own bowl of your own dog food

you would beg with those sad brown eyes for our pizza crust,

you’d wait at our feet for one of us to “accidentally” drop food we didn’t like.

when you got impatient, you’d dance-

we’d never known a dog to dance when they begged,

but we’d never had a dog as silly as you.

iii. i wasn’t always the best friend to you.

there were days where i barely said hi to you when i got home

days where i should’ve played with you and instead i played on the tv

[those days will always be my biggest regret in life]

you were always my best friend;

you were loud and playful

and liked to bark at everyone you saw.

those nights in my backyard

chasing fireflies and kissing frogs

will always be with me;

and the summer days where you got out

or ate bees even though you knew as well as i did that it never ended well

[i miss those days more than i miss anything else i’ve ever lost]

iv. the day after my birthday we said goodbye.

[i guess you’d really been saying goodbye for a while.]

in your own way, you’d already known.

[animals are like that; they know when their time is up.]

you’d been sleeping upstairs for a change

your hearing was gone

you didn’t bark at strangers

you couldn’t jump anymore.

that last one is when we really started understanding,

but it wasn’t until that day in july when i had to face it.

after my birthday, we said goodbye.

they said you’d been sick for a while

that there was nothing they could do

but make it comfortable.

a tumor had grown,

tangling your insides

[insidious]

and leaving us little choice

but to end it before it ended you.

so that’s what we did.

but we left early

your last moments weren’t with your people like they should’ve been

instead you were in a cold white room

with a woman you didn’t know.

and i’ll never forget how small you looked

lying on a towel on the white floor.

[how sad it is to leave a friend behind.]

// © achilles 2019 //