The gears of conflict

Red and rusted was my old bicycle
a passed down gift when my sister got bigger
wanted till I got it and not much longer
Click, click it went every time I rode
Clicking away un-bothered on the road.

The first clicks were happily ignored
glorified even as the music of my freedom
Next day I rode, It got in my head, mine alone,
Click, click, click the gears got angrier, clicking,
Biting at the rusted chains they were pulling.

“Oil the chains, tend to the gears” – Another time.
Click, clang, clang, click, click, clang
Clicking and Clanging I rode, This time not so alone
Heads turned irritated, as they noticed and judged
me, my rusted gears and my un-oiled chains.

CLANG! Covered in mud and dragging,
On that day when conflict brought down me and my bike
as the gears bit too hard and the chains broke,
I walked thinking of every conflict that
still hadn’t reached the breaking point.

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