“Cycle”

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(8-26)

 

 

The cycle of life, dearly played out

Deep in the darkness of unresolved doubt

One might expect a turn to occur

But the collapse of causation goes undeterred

It’s a ride toward destiny, in effect

With a saddle-bound bounty, a glorious trek

That’s the yield of a swab on the teeth

A stain on the wall where a spotlight can’t reach

That’s the upbraid

Of a heart being played

 

A scattering of dust that follows the kick

Moving through slowly, toward a taste of the salt lick

Eyes averted from a show of dissent

Then raised to reveal a rudely offered comment

The past is a guide to chart things that may come

But what truly transpires is still wildly random

Though shaped by the will of old men in control

There is still an opportunity to bend minds and souls

That’s the upbraid

Of a heart being played

 

Spat upon suddenly, instead of a kiss

Not quite a reward of innocence and bliss

Though episodes as these will toughen the skin

And bring a resilience to this age, wearing thin

I once thought it possible to stand and deliver

But now find myself ready to leap in the river

Where rushing waters may cleanse and renew

A chance to forget what my hands find to do

That’s the upbraid

Of a heart being played

 

Someone might ask how this rhyme came to be

And if questioned about it, I might seek to go free

But the reason is simple, a quest from the crib

A fine inclination in a diaper and bib

I have always been one to speak without delay

To mean what I mean, and say what I say

If ever there was a sense of wonder, inspired

I would stay on the sidelines, away from the fire

That’s the upbraid

Of a heart being played

 

The best and the brightest are both put away

When carnival attractions make a centerpiece array

Flanked by indifference to all that remains

Gone over the threshold of a house with no name

I’ve heard it said lightly that a fool rushes in

When those of better breeding take it hard on the chin

But I make no claim here, to be any more

That a bottom-shelf substitute from the dollar store

That’s the upbraid

Of a heart being played

 

At the end of this day, let there be no misgivings

About my attitude tilt toward a stand with the living

I’m glad for this seat at the foot of our master

Cast into form with a mold of fine plaster

My intellect honed by a discipline of right

After a journey into the void of midnight

That is the inn where I’ll rest and recoup

The worth of a slacker, slouched on the stoop

That’s the upbraid

Of a heart being played

 

If you want relevance, in this desperate hour

Look deep into the petals of a rising flower

Gazing strictly upon all the bright colors it carries

An offering of inspiration to be mirthful and merry

I might find the energy to rise and retort

Through a mantra in spray-paint, just for the sport

A cackle of commoners, repeated for effect

A cough of cold consequences keeping me in check

That’s the upbraid

Of a heart being played

 

Wish-upon, wish-upon, I believe all the way

Right to the crest of my judgment day

If I were slow to respond at the start

That might impede a run with the peddler’s push-cart

Carrying the goods that I now have to vend

Like a postal clerk, sacking letters to send

That is the path upon which I will tread

Until the finality of a cadence, long gone dead

That’s the upbraid

Of a heart being played