(note: about the pile of shoes at the Holocaust museum in Washington D.C.)
Oh.
So much aged leather.
It's the pile of shoes.
Mostly black with
the soot of time
A red stripe, untouched by age to glimmer.
A white mark.
From a scuff?
The only colors there, red, black, and white.
Heeled woman's shoes.
Boots for a workman.
Slippers for a young child.
All these people,
they likely died.
Their shoes stolen from them before death.
Despair for them.
Remember them.
Because they could have been you.
It's the pile of shoes.
So much aged leather.
Oh.
YOU ARE READING
Mini Poem Book I: Poems of My Soul
PoetryMini Poems: poems that don't take up more than a wattpad page. This is a book of mini poems, with topics that include: -tortured love -one-shot imaginations -a description of the little things in everyday life -confessions of what bothers my mind...
