Chargement...

Socks

Socks have a good life.
They spend their days
on separate feet
complimenting one another
yet not pressed together;
they get time apart.
 
At night, curled into a ball
they hold close
with the rest of their kind
intertwined fabric;
a collection of couples
 
The lone sock though
is never worn
and lays there, uncurled
apart from the crowd
though within it
thinking of the sock
it has lost.
 
Things are different now though
there are no rules on who can love who
now the lone socks
hope for a new pairing
complimentary through contrast;
there is hope yet.
 
There is always hope.

Version 2. If you fancy something more melancholy, drop the last verse.

Préféré par...
Autres oeuvres par Johnny Cammish...



Top