Later on in my life I would come to know
If I wasn't stowed away in the mildewed closet
Where my skin would be caressed by sticky cobwebs-
Those minion clammy hands dampening my spirit

I would be stacked body to body with others my kind
Surrendered  in cockroach infested boxes
Where we would sing or pray
For a stroll out on an airy sunny day

It would begin with a rough buff here
A brute brush there
To go where my master willed
Until my spine was worn to a sliver
And I became just another shoe

And cold wings would sing my eulogy,
My prayer forever lost
In the unturned pages of my diary