An aroma sluggishly drifts across the floors,
Signifying their creator: chuck taylor.
From factories of past oppression,
These polar ice high tops sent from the gods,
To make my toes dance against its walls in pure bliss. 

These gleaming salt-encrusted wonders of loyalty
Have been through everything with me,
A best friend
And a better half to my feet.

Some say I walk all over them.
I admit this is true,
But they lead the way
On every trip.

They,
Encased in armor,
Are irreplaceable.

So when you hold my shoes,
You're holding my battlefield.
My pair of pen-stained glorified warriors.

These soldiers of war won't last a lifetime,
This I know.

But for now,
They walk with me,
Laces intertwined,
Still fighting.