Footsteps, footsteps. Footsteps!

Blue shoes tapping on brown boards

Screws withstanding the stories of

Hundred who wish to seek the next.

The ocean below is barely audible,

Shouting seas replaced with

Tires rotating on rubbery cycles.

Shutters close and teeth exposed

As one thousand eyes are magnified

Through lenses capable of

Stealing a smile from Father Time.

Vibrations calling out the names

Of every sound that has passed

Some full of childlike joy, while

Others whisper of quiet contempt

But they all flow, in harmony,

As footsteps continue to pass

By my chilly ears.

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