Friday, July 9, 2010

Sour Shoes

Sometimes I wear sour shoes, violins playing, voices bashing, curtains drawn against the splendor of the moment. Thinking I am these shoes, forgetting I can take them off, run barefoot shouting to the winds, I love who I am as I spread my wings, leap into the sky, soaring amongst stars and clouds, joy flowing through my veins. So goodby sour shoes, I feel the dew glazed grass beneath my feet now as I start my run.

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