Legless footless boot discarded, without a care,
Like a bad memory from yesterday, just there, disregarded,
Forgotten by those who move on, unnoticed, not a blink, not a glare.
Who else would see you looking purposeless, what fool?
That would really try to understand your predicament, what simpleton?
Not even the one who wore you could be as silly as a mule, is it a rule?
That boots should have feet in them? is it for the barefoot to contemplate?
For the meaning is taken in steps, endless steps that have to concentrate,
Break the straps of boots, boots with feet that travel,
Maddening, as the tale of the feet in them unravel,
Heels crack, ankles snap, toes moan as steps cover the map,
None of it is exact, neither lie nor fact, just truth that admits it lacks,
The ability, the simplicity to explain why a boot must have a foot, why truth must be exact…
Strips of my being wrap tightly around your essence,
Like the wings of a newborn butterfly shielding and reflecting,
The gentle truth of my heart’s confessions,
Causes ripples so powerful and delightful and yet mysteriously undetected,
Through broken eyes I keep a steady watch while you rest your senses,
Forgetting, becoming and releasing anything worth repenting,
We connect silently like meaning and purpose in a well thought sentence,
And find nothing but formidable will armed with menacing self acceptance,
Ready to die for things we little understand because we have true intentions,
Worlds apart and yet still we crank to each other’s rhythms like mechanical extensions,
I am your footsteps your shadow your forgotten powers lost in the enigmatic lessons,
While you undoubtedly are the long awaited answer to my oldest question…who am I?
I’m feeling this at this moment, floating