‘Cycle’ by Rebecca Fraser

In dreary bar in London’s west
Business man seeks work day rest
He loosens tie and takes a seat
Overlooking cobbled street
Glancing up through cityscape
Full moon maintains an eerie shape
Young girl enters, tight and tanned
The suit removes his wedding band
Engages her with flattery
Buys her drink, then two, then three
Invites her back to hotel room
Two figures stir the backstreet gloom
Cheerless boudoir, grimy, damp
Yet moonlight shines, no need for lamp
Groping crudely, parts her thighs
The girl smiles back through lupine eyes
Love not made, instead lust sated
Man rises, ego validated
A stench of matted fur in air
He whirls to find the girl not there
Instead a crouching, snarling hound
That crosses room in canine bound
And rips the throat tie once adorned
To flee into the night, reborn.

Flashback four hundred years or more
When warships land on foreign shore
Between the light of setting sun
And darkness, where the moon’s rays shone
Young soldier strays in twilit wander
His limbs to stretch, his soul to ponder
Ocean rhythm, saline breeze
Urge soldier on, until he sees
In distance filled with nighttime gloom
A lonely figure on shoreline loom
Shapely female silhouette
Gypsy skirt and hair of jet
Footsteps over crunching sand
Two strangers meet, she takes his hand
Pounding heart and light of head
He lays her where the waves still tread
Mouth on mouth and flesh on flesh
Yet overhead the clouds unmesh
Revealed against a starlit track
Full moon resplendent, white on black
Gentle fingers that once caressed
Now talons ripping heart from breast
Young soldier’s blood seeps into sand
His battle lost…not by man’s hand.

Now picture please, an ancient earth
Centuries ‘fore the Carpenter’s birth
Terrain much different, yet sky the same
Stars and moon in unchanged frame
Primordial tribes, a hunting man
Who worked the land to feed his clan
Went forth to stalk the nightly prey
The jungle danced its strange ballet
And through the dappled light he spied
A creature moving, gimlet-eyed
Not buffalo, or sloth, or deer
He closed the distance, raising spear
Silent footsteps, art of track
Bracing mind for swift attack
Moonlit clearing, void of game
The hunter looks for trail of same
Seeking signs on bended knees
A grizzled fiend streaks through the trees
Disembowels with swipe of claw
Extinguished life through unseen maw
So remember in this modern age
When lunar myths are deemed unsage
The cycle holds no man immune…
Where will you be next full moon?

* ‘Cycle’ first appeared in Anniversary Issue 5 of New Myths Magazine, 2008

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