My Boots
You don't need protection in the storm!
I stand here quietly,
in a puddle with my boots on,
wondering where it all went wrong.
I remember a day when boots were optional in the rain.
Now they provide us with the best of protection in the storm.
Who knew that we needed protection?
We were fine enough without it.
Underneath all of that padding is the raw, “us.”
Will you be there when I don’t have my boots on?
Will you stay even after the storm has passed?
Or will you fade away into the sunset like they all do?
Splashing my feet,
squinting my eyes,
rubbing my forehead in the rain!
Maybe you’ll be my next coffeehouse poem on Tuesdays!
Or maybe you’ll be just another nomad,
passing by with your boots on!
About the Creator
Kristen Ulrich
Please view my website:
http://www.bluerosesweb.com
Keep reading
More stories from Kristen Ulrich and writers in Poets and other communities.
Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis5 days ago in Humans
Comments (1)
I like this❤️😉