My soul hangs on the soles of my shoes.

I reflect on all that I have done and not done.
My reflection, I stand on my soles.
My soul hangs on the soles of my shoes.
On shoes, I picked, buckled, and laced, maybe not.
My reflection, woven through yours, maybe not.
A pedestal or a pylon, either, if flipped around.
You can judge how much pedestal or pylon, hopefully, some of both
I have a judge, but I deny you not.
My reflection has judgment fractures, too.
Your reflection is not mine;
well, maybe I did block your light, sorry.
Maybe I gave you light, that feels good.
I reflect on all that I have done and not done.
But not too much, just enough to know,
My reflection stands on my soles.
My soul towers into the stars.
Maybe not.
My soul stretches into infinity below my soles
Maybe not.
I reflect on all that I have done and not done.
~jennwren