His shoes lay on the ground
Two huge galleons
That had collided in the night
And now were sinking
on their sides
Into the deep gray of the shag carpet
They were wounded soldiers
That had bourn for too long
The pounding steel of his weight
Carrying on their backs
A mountainous burden
The soles, late autumn leaves
Gaping with holes
Told of the pain and torture
They had endured in his service
Bearing his wandering soul.
Mangled and twisted
They lay discarded on the closet floor
No trace of gratitude or love
An empty huddled mass
Of dirty worn out leather
And that is all that’s left of him.
The soles, late autumn leaves Gaping with holes Told of the pain and torture They had endured in his service Bearing his wandering soul.
Annabel, I dont know why but this poem makes me think of my father, who journeyed to the other side many years ago. But as a very young child I remember removing his shoes when he got home from work. thoughtful poem.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hi Annabel, for some reason this poem reminds me of my Dad, thank you for sharing.