Cycles

The same old cycle,

Mechanical wheels of a bicycle,

It wishes for you to recycle.

It pulls you back,

It sees you making progress,

That you’re on the right track.

It lingers,

A soft caress of a lover’s fingers,

As soft as an angel’s feathers, a down pillow,

It promises ‘freedom’ as that of a willow;

Do not follow, do not heed, do not partake in the deed, do not even plant the seed;

The seed of doubt, for only woe shall sprout.

This time, there may not be an easy way out.

It sends and bends the intricacies of the mind,

A curvature, a maneuver, the bind of the spine.

Do not allow it’s lies to twine, do not drink the poisonous wine.

This is your sign.