Chunky and grimy rubber soles
complement the rips.
Ravaged. Ragged. Worn away.
Fading but sturdy.
Still robust.
Twenty shining, golden eyes.
How did they get so worn?
What so deeply penetrated
the thick hide,
exposing just a sliver of
the solid, silver bone?
*This was the 1st poem I ever wrote in club. That's why it's on here. Not because Brendan's boots were the shit, or anything.
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