Anthology

Soles

Soles

Quickly worn away by work

Needing to be replaced

To be updated

The feet wear out

And another takes their place

The mark of a man is not the end of the line

And not measured by the shoes dumped off

But the souls

Persons, mended and darned

The measure of success is not how far you go, changing souls and wearing through them

But how worn at the end of the line

The one's you walk with are.

The feather of truth is not heavy

An unworn sole sinks the scale

Ammit beckons for those who stand still

Their shoes unbroken, spotless

White converse tell no great stories

Prints of mud, of scat, of grass and gravel, of linoleum speaks and water streaks

Those mark a story well earned

A rest purchased

A work done

Perhaps that is the answer

The unworn soul

Has not learned that the end of the line comes for only those who have no more to give