Running On Empty
We take care how we fill our shoes.
Our trainers and boots.
Our flats and heels, stilettos and cuban.
They may match our mood, specially chosen,
or be eternal representations of our unified self.
So surely something of us must remain
when they are emptied.
Not just our smells and mis-shapes,
evocative as they are,
but something more fundamental.
Something spiritual.
Something symbolic.
See here
empty shoes
laid out tidily in rows.
Blocked together on a grass field
or concrete yard.
Rows upon rows of them
that once contained the school children
now shot dead,
our children.
See here
empty shoes
piled high in untidy heaps.
Heaps and heaps of them,
that once contained peaceful people
now massacred, bombed, burned.
Our people
spanning place
and time without end.


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