Old Shoe

Cobbles I travel and cobbled I am.
You ask "Who am I, and how have I been?",
My soul has worn thin.
My travels are far and weighted,
Heavy is the tongue that's bound and dated.
Fragile are my soft and fleshy sides,
Stretched by years of miser pride.
I'm not spiritual by nature yet Holy,
So I continue the righteous path slowly.
I am dirty and dingy and covered in soot,
Since my birth my death has been afoot.
But here I am still around,
Until a better fit is found.
Cobbles I travel and cobbled I am.

Morning Routine

My eyes part to a stale sun.  The air is made toxic from hours of unconscious flatulence and mouth breathing.  The taste of previously forgotten cigarettes remain dancing on the back of my throat.  I thrash through the cloth bindings in an effort to shut off what can only be described as the wailings of a digital child.  I will rest a bit before I give him another shake.  The brat’s screams echo within my brain once more. I grab him by the side and correct the behavior.  I heave his silent body to the corner of the room, I have no remorse.  I rise from my fabric grave and stare blankly at the bathroom door, it’s never felt so far away.  I stumble forward like a newborn calf, tripping over old hooves and hides I’ve discarded days before.  Each step toward the portal has my back straitening and my shoulders regally aligning themselves back, I am erect.  Like a king addressing his peasants, I stand before my throne.  I am rigid at first, but then I soften as I express what is to be the first of my actions.        

A fraction

A fraction

You have me divided, my thoughts split,

Wanting something new.

My emotions stretched over a thin line,

Questioning what’s true.

A fraction of our love remains,

The last tendon till we’re through.

Irrationally we played the numbers game,

Now we wait and stew.

If we subtract what we once had,

And look at what we do.  

We are but half the people we once were,

Because now we’re over too.