The Shoe Box
One size does not fit all and the shoe horn stuck out
Tim shooed away foot prints ghosts and memories
When the clock struck midnight at the end of the year
Not much had differed when the fire works stopped
But resolve had to tighten the strings attached to his soul
Colour from outside of the box seeped through inside
Varnished the leather and the diamond soles of his mind
Weather worn foot wraps were made for walking untoward
His nib had not faltered much but he changed his ink
From angry red to soothing violet and indigo shades
The fountain pen was still the same old Mont Blanc
And valleys and hill tops rose among magic mountains
But when he scratched the core of granite and gold
He decided to rub out volcanoes from burnt paper
Left just enough residue to shine through the pages
Snow boots slipped onto parched story narration
Sandals sneaked cautiously to the front of the stride
Loafers pumped springs into well trodden steps
Moccasins flip-flopped as time poured into sand
High heels towered over a platform of high tops
He wondered how it was to march in peaking stilettos
To parade in high heels and low altitude of change
As he approached the fields and trenches of Flanders
Planted poppy seeds resting on unmarked wooden graves
Tim paused in thought and replaced the cartridge once more
04th January 2020
Copyright © Kai Michael Neumann | Year Posted 2020
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