Not A Blanket To Hide Or Console Poem by Madrason .

What shoes have stampeded this earth
did it drink red moist or dirt
how many iron turns have woken it
out of a minutes sleep per day
if I lay my ear on thee
would you speak to me softly
or would if could you yell;
did it withhold some boots
of determined murderers
would it have touched
a dying tread and made aware
shaken and awakened some feet
to make a sudden run for it
could it have spoken "take care"
do I want to open this can
this tin can left with hope from then
if I would, could all pain be released? M