The Cycle – a poem

The Cycle
A bicycle given in charity
To a woman of sorrow forlorn.
Her transport an amenity
For a life where love has gone.

She takes that bike and follows him
To the path, he trod before.
Her heart is hard as she watches him
Alight from his den d’amore.

Arm in arm they walk that street
Neglectful of teary cries.
Arm in arm they walk that street
Safe in their loving lies.

On her bicycle she rides for home
Where her grief into anger turns.
From the street she is heard to moan
As seething hatred burns.

She waits for him at the garden gate
With his gun, as morning looms.
Carelessly towards his fate
He trips lightly through the gloom.

She raises the sights to his chest and pulls
The trigger of his gun
Too late, she sees her actions full
Of the deed that she has done

His eyes fly wide as she reaches his side
And his blood pools on the ground
She clutches his head as her hatred subsides
And his soul, from earth is unbound

Her sorrowful cry floats across the land
Alerting people to his fate
While she kneels in blood as she holds his hand
And replays her life’s mistake.
©Gillian Long


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