The End Of A Cycle

The cycle goes around itself,

A blinding dash of red.

The cycle collapses on itself.

Is its rider dead?

The cycle’s wheels roll away

Down the cliff, a stony slide.

The cyclist stands, his bike in shreds…

Last time he’ll text and ride.

Meanwhile the cycle rolls away

To who knows where and when

Until, reborn, the scattered scraps

Begin the cycle again.

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