Death on a Motorcycle, a poem



There are moments like this

that you just don’t forget

they linger deep

and crawl upon your skin

for I saw where the body lay

in the field

surrounded by wild grasses.

The car lay in the ditch

glass shattered

front door open

and the motorcycle

was reduced to bits and shreds of metal

strewn across the highway.

His body lay far off in the distance


and the police cordoned off

the edges of the field

they surrounded the scene

and hunkered over tall grasses.

I gasped when I saw it

drew breath in – deep

I still gulped for air

lost in sadness

I could feel the loss.

Part of me is glad,

it wasn’t what I imagined

laying in the field

was just a marker

where his body had once lain

but not long before,

his body was there

his body was there…

Someone died today

just like any other day I guess,

but I witnessed the aftermath

I gulped for air in recognition.

We are never aware

when death is going to happen

or what we will be doing

when we get there.


© Sumyanna 2016


Submitted for The Daily Post Prompt: aware

Image courtesy of


2 Comments Add yours

  1. I rode my motorcycle – my lovely Harley – for the first time in over six months yesterday (we’ve been away!) I almost always pray for protection first because… well, for the reasons you gave in your beautiful poem. ☺


    1. Sumyanna says:

      I completely understand. My uncle was a Harley man. He and a few friends went out one day and returned with one of them in the hospital. A driver behind him backed into him and tore his ankle. With distracted driving these days, I am sure it is worse.

      Liked by 1 person

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