The old boot was tattered
and worn down at heel
no sign of any cobblers pride
polished into it.
Torn toe cap, discarded laces,
fading, discoloured.
Yet many a mile
had passed comfortably
beneath its tread.
It was the boot he chose to wear,
with its brother on the other foot.
Why bother to wear a more
durable younger pair he thought.
For the old worn boots
always brought him
the attention he sought.
He enjoyed letting the world know
how hard done by he had been in life
and was rewarded by the warmth
of the sympathy which followed.
Lately though, he sensed
some people had begun to see him for
the sympathy seeking thing he'd become.
Maybe he had let them see
too much of his loving family,
comfortable home and career.
Perhaps the comfort of sympathy
had eased him into revealing his duplicity.
Or was it simply about time
he stopped whinging about the past
and began to praise the world around him
for all the richness it brought to him.
How hard would it be to stop
wallowing in the shadow of yesterday
and step into the light of promise.
-
Author:
dusk arising (
Offline) - Published: April 16th, 2021 00:03
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 69
Offline)
Comments5
Very good words d a, that light of promise is always there for us.
Andy
Some don't see it sadly.
Good write Dusk.
An impressive reminder of how habits can stay long enough to smear the present - a memorable last line where old boots are an apt example of yesterday shadowing steps into "the light of promise" Food for much thought here Dusk.
I guess we all have our baggage of sorrows and regrets and probably i am lucky to be blessed with the ability to be thankful for my little lot and what the world around me brings to me. This piece was intended as an encouragement for those still looking at their old boots.
Thanks for your wise words.
accessibly worded, yet inked with that eloquence of a poet's transformative voice!
I found this poems character portrait so relatable, doubt I'll be the only one
a great write Dusk
Really engaging poem . I liked it 🙂
Thank you Yellowrose.
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