I found them wedged in the bottom of my shoes.
They traveled such a long way,
But they were never supposed to leave.
They tumbled out of the scuffed bottom, small, round and rough.
A pink and white ombre lay on the floor,
With bits of tan speckled in between.
The pebbles are long and chalky,
But they don't show their age.
The small rocks had seen so much,
Hiding in the nooks of my shoes.
They have been to the edge of a crystal clear ocean,
With the waves lapping at them gently.
They hiked halfway up a mountain,
Breathing in the crisp, cool air.
The small pebbles have traveled so far,
But they were never meant to leave.
They are the remnants of ancient ruins,
They are full of stories and secrets.
They were supposed to stay where they were,
Showing the world what they used to be.
They are small but their age precedes them,
Going back thousands of years.
Prisoners of history and destruction,
Meant to be seen and never touched.
Yet here they sit and stare back at me,
Out of their country of origin.
Stowaways in my soles.
YOU ARE READING
Wandering Minds
General Fiction"I wonder as I wander, out under the sky..." A compilation of short poems and stories that I don't know where else to put.
