Shoe Gazing

Shoe Gaze

My shoes tell me who I am.

All Day I Dream About Self.

Too blue, blaring eyesore.

A too large tongue stuck out.

Tied tightly with a final knot.

Walks over everyone. Stood on. 

Tramples everything. Trampled on.

Treads softly on temporary ground.

The last vestige of the ghost of purpose.

Legs peddling endlessly until almost worn

down to the sole, until only the shoes remain,
like stumps of axed Wonder boom or Cedars of God.