This is the shoe where poetry lives
It walks with a tap and the occasional hop and skip
But on Mondays it drags a little on the way to the train station

This is the shoe where poetry lives
Ready to throw a kick but inevitably risking a stubbed toe
Harbouring the memory of a break and the months of limp

This is the shoe where poetry lives
Experimenting with an odd sock, denoting a qwerky outlook
And if you were to examine it's sole you'd find an uneven wear

This is the shoe where poetry lives
Grass stained from ventures along less travelled paths
And carrying scuffs from many climbed boundary walls

This is the shoe where poetry lives
And it sits by the back door ready for the next adventure
Silently jealous of the shoe that was claimed by the dog last night

A fiction is woven in silence
the worn out shoes at the door
a house rule observed in compliance
they're neglected and piled up once more

discarded yet thrown all together
worn in but stretched to the sole
it creates a softer creased leather
but odour combined takes it's toll

Socks? Strict, soft tubes to fit my feet in? No, no, **** that;
I’d rather have my toes splayed out and arches back.
****** heeled shoes, relics from rich ******; I’d like my feet flat.
I love the barefoot shoe life, I’m all about that.

Wide-toed shoes that let you maximize your splay,
no orthotic arches so you can stand up on your feet all day,
and though a few folks glared at my “clown shoes” today,
I don’t mind it… because that’s just the barefoot way.

There was a shoe
Black and white tartan pattern
Woven ***** white laces
That walked
In aimless directions for its master

The rubber sole sturdy
No matter the terrain
Of homeless encampments
Rocky back alleys
Snow climbed inside the bare foot

"Can you bring me some socks"
When you called that winter afternoon, the sun fading
"My toes are so cold"
Our house but a mile away
And you almost die at my feet

I wonder if I'll ever know the answer
Will I ever find the unspoken words between the lines
Racing through the never ending days
Driving past all these glaring stop signs

Will I ever truly feel free?
Will my heart race and soul yearn?
Will it ever beat steady and strong?
Will it grow hotter and burn?

I wonder how long I have left?
Is my forever the here and now?
Is stability and contentment the goal?
Is this the final scene when I take a bow?

When did being healthy and happy grow so loud
Like a broken alarm clock refusing to switch off
Blaring and screaming unwaveringly proud.
Younger me would roll my eyes and scoff

Its as if I'm waiting for that other shoe
That supposed one thats meant to drop
The first is on the floor awaiting
The other held high at the top

Holding my breath and waiting.
Times passing, and I can't help but anticipate
The inevitable feeling of dread,
But maybe its all in my head.

my old shoe carries me
through walks of life
the dirt, dust and poo
through to the end
and if my shoe can do
then how much the more
you too, can too
my friend

I want to keep a pair of your shoes;
(not just any pair of shoes)
But ones that you've walked in,
shoes that have ***** laces and have tumbled in dirt-
Because when I' am old and you shall not be here;
as I lay in my bed once again alone-Your shoes will
always be there-
to remind me of the journey's-
you walked in throughout your life and ours.
We are the soul, which is underneath the foot,
as we plant our bases at every stem-
By having your shoes;
they can be entwined with mine.
As a peace offering, that we've walked life together,
and those memories can go on rewind.

The meaning of love
You never knew
The usage of love
Was like a shoe

You wore it
It served its purpose
You walked on
And gained purchase

It was a comfort
All worn in
It was a conflict
Bottom got thin

Never repairing
Just worn and shorn
And never resoling
What was completely torn

The giving of love
Is like a shoe
The giving of love
Covers, protects, and needs a renew

A shoe that fits no longer
change blowing through the open doors
A rhythm that springs from my core:
My shoe it fits no more
My shoe it fits no more
My shoe it fits no more

Stripped from expectations
guided by a vision
A whisper from the void:
The empowerment of choice
The empowerment of choice
The empowerment of choice