There's something very
Poetic
In the soles of my shoes.
In the way my feet
walk about.
Ready to run
Ready to stop
And fall on my knees.
The way that I walk:
Doubting my ankles,
Tip-toe-ing on stepping-stones
Of fear.
The terror of hearing
The cracks in the earth
And seeing my souls slipping
Through the crevices
of my heart.
There's something almost
Dramatic
In the peaks of the mountains
That rise inside me.
Where the souls have been digging for gold
But found only ashes
Found only dirt.
The tingle of abyssal loneliness
Spreading to the tips of my toes,
Transcending the existential essence
of my being.
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 5:19 PM UTC
There's something very
Poetic
In the soles of my shoes.
In the way my feet
walk about.
Ready to run
Ready to stop
And fall on my knees.
The way that I walk:
Doubting my ankles,
Tip-toe-ing on stepping-stones
Of fear.
The terror of hearing
The cracks in the earth
And seeing my souls slipping
Through the crevices
of my heart.
There's something almost
Dramatic
In the peaks of the mountains
That rise inside me.
Where the souls have been digging for gold
But found only ashes
Found only dirt.
The tingle of abyssal loneliness
Spreading to the tips of my toes,
Transcending the existential essence
of my being.
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