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This is a poem I wrote one evening as I sat in the corner of a room observing the activity and reflecting on my time here in Germany. It’s a beautiful country, but what I notice is often sad.

A Cruel Cycle

He takes his normal place at the table.
She takes her seat at the opposite end.

Barely a sign they’re actually together.
No longer a spouse, not really a friend.

Whatever happened to this happy union?
No signs this bond was ever joyful at all?

Was it just a duty they were raised to do
at their 18th Spring or maybe in the Fall?

Showing tenderness was never as important.
The tradition was the name of the game.

Raised to believe love is a feeling overrated.
Because daily life does its warmth soon tame.

Not a gentle touch, not even a soft kiss.
No real concern for the other’s deep pains.

Never a single night of passionate love.
Tears of regret, the most visible bed stains.

The rooms grow so cold, lonely, and silent.
Their voices barely carry a loving tone.

Forgetful of the last real compliment given.
Or when love in each other’s eyes was shown.

Soon the children arrive just as planned.
Maybe two, or perhaps there will be four.

They’ll watch them reach their 18th year.
Then, this cruel cycle begins once more.

Copyright © 2013 Lawrence D. Elliott


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