And Gravity Won't Pull you Through

My Feet

My feet are bruised and battered, blistered and abused
Slaves to my wanderings, leather-bound and overused
Clinging to this rock, that they cannot understand
They feel no love, only water, or mud, or sand.

I'll cover them in colours, forget the skin below
Curse them when they ache and bleed, when I told them where to go.
My toes are bent and broken, knocked and crushed with no regard
Forced into tight stinking cells, only to leave more scarred.

But look at a man, look at his face, and see who he really is.
Can you tell from his eyes, if he is a man, of his word, or of his fist?
Can you tell that he has seen the world, or put his body to work?
Or if he is a waste of your time and space, a liar for all he is worth

But look at his feet, and they scream the truth, they tell you nothing less
They've carried him from his waking days, through his failures and success.
Supported him through everything, rain, sun, snow and sleet
So next time you want a measure of man, maybe take a look at his feet.



Photograph by My Boy ...Words by my Boy....

I'm very proud