A poem of hope for a fresh life of change and new experiences. By Luminz

Worn From Wear.

But a few strips of leather am I.
Now I've got some stitches in my side.
A kind wrinkled face peers down at me.
He mumbles wishes and good tides.

I fall asleep and wake up to find
I am now a pair of fine leather boots.
A client buys with gold and a smile.
I hope I am used and get covered in soot!

My new purpose I wish to fulfill–
To be of value by gentle abuse
And cleaned each night with grateful care.
Life as boots will surely be dull if I get no use!

New master wears me on his way home
To break the stiff new leather in,
And as dusk settles he sets me beside his bed,
And thus my new life begins.

The next day he peers at my shining hide,
As I stand so tall and proud.
My first day of work shall now commence–
Then master heaves a sigh aloud.

He reaches down, my hopes soar high
But his hand just glides on by.
He slips upon old sandals of wood,
And leaves taking a candle light.

I wonder at this bizarre turn,
And ponder it all day.
When in the e'en he returns,
I hope t'will be my turn to play.

But alas! He comes home very late,
And into bed he goes.
He snuffs his candle without a glance,
And of his weight his old bed groans.

The years pass by, I get nary a use
But on the occasional Sunday.
O how I wish to be turned loose!
And feel the dirt and sun's golden rays.

My master dies, if you can call him that.
His estate is swiftly sold.
It doesn't sell for very much,
For it is very old.

I'm tossed in a box with other things,
And loaded to a truck.
The most excitement I've had for awhile!
But I don't feel much luck.

Shoved on a shelf among many other shoes,
I hear their mournful cries.
Some've been happy, many have had lives like mine.
When a pair is chosen, we rejoice those times.

Perhaps I will find someone new,
Who'll love me as I'm meant.
But for now I sit, gathering dust.
It is my soul's lament!

Finally a hand is laid
Upon my icy skin
And out I'm pulled and up I look
To see a gentle grin.

She dusts me off and again I shine,
Though scuff and scratch I've few,
But it seems she doesn't mind.
To her I seem brand new!

She buys me after a few other things
With silver dollars four.
And off she carries me again–
Then on and out the door!

The cobbles are wet, I'm splashed with mud
And water and grime galor!
On gravel and dirt my soles do tread
And grass and weeds and more!

She makes it home as more rain pours down,
And off and beside the fire I go.
But not too close, she's careful of.
I'll be happy here, I know.

She cleans and oils me with tender care,
Much like the cobbler did.
To bed and up in the morn again,
And upon her feet I'm slid!

I see so many wonders,
So many things anew.
I feel the wind and dirt and dust,
And washed in the morning dew.

Each morning eager hands reach down,
To tug my now supple skin
Onto eager feet that run
And toil and twirl and spin.

Here I'm happy, though here I know
My life will sooner end.
But a far richer finer life is had
With twists and turns and bends.