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Shoe
by Mark StoneThe soul is pinched, folded, creased.
It fits the body
As a foot fits an ill-fitting shoe.
It itches and stings
In its unfamiliar confinement.
A strange estate,
This cave from which we are born
But never leave,
Bewailing all the while
Our forced marriage of soul and skin,
Parents of an unhappy child. 10/01/2008 Posted on 10/02/2008
Copyright © 2024 Mark Stone
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Graeme Fielden on 10/02/08 at 11:22 AM a nicely crafted and rounded piece, Mark. Kudos. Welcome to PPS from a fellow Aussie :) |
| Posted by Laurie Blum on 10/02/08 at 03:57 PM I enjoyed this poem a great deal too. Welcome Mark. |
| Posted by Katerina T Nix on 10/06/08 at 09:58 PM Yep, this is my favourite from you so far. And yes, very Platonic. Adding it to my favourites list now :) Love Kat oxo |
| Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 10/12/08 at 12:37 AM A most intriguing view of the soul/body relationship. Great analogy at the end. |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 10/21/11 at 04:43 PM Apparently mother nature didn't know how to create a being without a body. So where does it go when the body is no longer a fit place to reside? Really good poem Mark, well done! And congratulations on POTD!! |
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