Folded top to bottom, crisp and clean
Stained not by mud yet torn with
Things less tangible to the eye
A small, clean shirt, not tattered, unworn
A pair of shoes, dusty closet corner
Unlaced, unworn, untouched
With miles yet to walk and places to go
A simple blue, not a thing more
A fresh-made bed, for years it seems
New-dressed sheets, homemade quilt
Awaits a mind wandering of destinations to go
A sleeper to sleep, rest, lie, and dream
Another room, still full of life
Yet a thought lies heavy, hanging
A question half-answered, neither right nor wrong
How long will they wait until the whole answer comes?
A new pair of shoes is surely needed
The others went walking in a land far away
Walking their miles, in no hurry, no race
Their shells seemed to stay unworn
A question with no right answer
Everyone always meets again
For a second or forever
There is no rush, no running
To break in the shoes, to wear out the soles.
---
A poem from October 2008.
I debated a bit on which one to post. I have a good-size backlog and nowhere else to put them, really, besides here.
This one ended up being the first of February.
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