People look,
And some of them say:
Those shoes are too old,
     Too ugly,
          Are they going to mold?
               Those must be broken.
But no one could ever know,
These vans have been from Degobah to Vulcan.
From the grave these crept,
Covered by skulls
If scrutinized,
They will penetrate the souls
     Of all.
And I’ve heard it said:
Those sure look
          Worn out.
                    Look at those holes.
You miss the light and the shout
Of the golden tread
     My shoes leave about.
The journey of life
These vans have took;
     Scarred by the road;
     Stabbed by thorns of the wild;
     Smothered in sauce more than mild.
Have you seen blood,
Or withstood the waters
     Of the flood?
These are slips
That would face these plights
Without any frights,
Without any fits.
All show their colors
     Bright, easy to spy;
          They are worth more than dollars.
               White, behind watching eyes.
                    The Vans.

About gnarlyoak

"Nestled sporadically over great and endless knolls, devoid of life during dry summer months, the oak trees of Los Altos Hills – so numerous around my home – speak to me in an unheard language. Like any person I am the sum of my successes and failures but unlike the masses I have heard the language of the oaks – I found meaning in their forgotten voice." - Song of the Oak
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6 Responses to Vans

  1. Good joint. Pretty creative.

  2. Sunflowerdiva says:

    Wow, nice poem. Very original. I like it a lot.

  3. Nemi ;3 says:

    I really like this =]

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