With shoes on firm our feet cross street and field.
Not stones, nor glass, nor sticks can hurt us deep.
Soft skin, soft mind, soft breath; in peace we sleep,
our weak and deepest fears remain concealed.
From labor harsh our hands construct a shield
of callous cold and numb, our souls to keep.
Our touch stays dull and hearts remain asleep
with inner turmoil safely unrevealed.
Should shoes and callous disappear tonight
as booze pours down our throat’s forgetful tears.
Our mind exposed becomes an ugly sight
and we the victims shamed by puppeteers,
self-made by walls well-meant against the bite
of callous gods, false hopes and normal fears.
Prompt: Samuel @ d’Verse Poets, teaches us about the Miltonian sonnet. And if you don’t know, thats: ABBA/ABBA/CDCDCD all in iambic pentameter.