I feel like a puddle in front of a school.
Having children jump in me one after another as they see me on the ground.
But every time you jump in a puddle,
the water disperses..
the puddle gets smaller from the water splashing out.
And oh my,
far too many feet have dipped their toes into the hollows of my being for me to feel functional.
I feel as if I’m shrinking like that puddle in a sense.
Tainted by ***** shoes making permanent alterations to my pre-existing form.
Maybe sometimes there’s no “adaptive responses.”
The only way for the puddle to fill and grow again,
is for more rain to fall.
But there are no clouds in this sky of “me.”

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.