Footfalls Torments

Footfalls Torments

Incensed by my own senses,

my struggle, my conflict, my war

continues, unabated, on the planes of my soul.

"Incoming!  Incoming!"  The echoes shout.

Too late!

My soul, a mass of scare tissue, opens another wound.

The bayonet fresh with mine own blood.

Running, agast and breathless,

I snag and drag open yesterday's healings

and suffer again the pain of mine own foolishness.

Live I with too big a foot to avoid

the slighest twig?  It seems so.

Perhaps...if I manicure I will have more control.

So foolish a notion, for 'tis the foot that defies.

It runs to its own flavors, often putrid, often filthy.

But i dress it in fancy socks and

hope no one smells the tell-tail sin.

The soul knows, for my footprint is its poison,

and where I tread, "Incoming!"  It shouts.

If only someone would carry me.  My foot would not offend.

There is one up to the task.

What is his name?  What is his name?

If only I could remember, he could save me from this H...!

I'm told he brings winged shoes to wear

that softly tread and heal

the sacred tissues of my tormented soul.