Pon Farr

For today’s prompt, write a story poem. Think of a story, could be a long, complicated, winding story, but for a poem, it may make more sense to make it a short, direct story.

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Pon Farr

My friend should have let me die
but he was an emotional human,
prone to irrational outbursts.

He risked his career
to save my life
by bringing me home.

Home, where every seven years,
I must return to lose control
else die an undignified death.

Home, where the stark beauty
and austere landscape
enforce discipline.

Home, where she waited
in clear precision
for my desire.

Or so I thought.
She challenged my right,
declared my friend her champion.

Were I not deep
in the blood fever,
I would’ve understood,

countered her tactic
like any gambit
in three dimensional chess

but I fought as an animal
to pass my genetic material
to the next generation.

My friend lies in the dust,
my ahn’woon around his neck,
the fever passes.

He should have let me die
then I would not have killed
him, my captain, my friend.

About Bartholomew Barker

Bartholomew Barker was born and raised in Ohio, studied in Chicago, worked in Connecticut for nearly twenty years before moving to Hillsborough, North Carolina where he makes money as a computer programmer to fund his poetry habit.
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to Pon Farr

  1. Allie says:

    #PoorSpock #OhToBeVulcan #DesireIsDangerous #LoveIsNotEasy

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