Boots

Watch where you walk,
Take a moment,
Pause.
Look down towards the ground,
Or you may miss it,
Stop.

No, not at the ground,
Towards.
No, not at the ground,
At the people,
At the feet that tread upon it,
At the boots.

So many lives around,
How can you keep track?
Impossible, if it weren’t for that simple fact,
That ultimately,
You can see that it all boils down,
To the boots.

Freshly manufactured,
Polished, elegant, poised, beautiful as an infant
That can do no wrong.
It takes some time to break them in,
Moulding them ever so slightly to suit your feet,
A child, learning, thinking, growing.

If you’re lucky, you may catch a glimpse
Of a pair that has been diligently taken care of ,
It retains its shine, though it slowly ages,
Pause.
Look up again,
For this is a person worth watching.

Don’t spend too long, however,
Or you may lose yourself in time,
Look down, quick,
Or you may find that your boots have aged without you,
Keep your head down only for a few more seconds,
Or you may lose yourself in another’s story.

Stop.
The moment is over,
Don’t look too long,
Else your boots may tear with time,
Their laces may fray,
Their colors may fade.

But no matter what you do,
Take your boots with you,
For the world can see what you have done,
Through the mark you make upon this sacred ground,
What you leave behind with every step,
Footprints.

One Comment Add yours

  1. Loved your central idea of the poem..kudos to you

    Like

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