Boots Worn from Journey Long

LOTR object:  Boromir's boots

My boots are worn from journey long,
Caked with the mud of many places;
One hundred ten days spent in long searching
Through wilderness, fen, and grassy heath;

Now my boots are set on another road,
One less hopeful and full of dread;
But I still choose to tread that road,
For my boots must always be set
Towards my duty, towards my people.
May my path soon lead me home.

There are many choices before me,
And my boots tread the path without flinching.
At times my choices are made in darkness;
At other times the way forward seems clear and unmistakeable.
But still my own feet must choose my way;
My boots cannot choose for themselves.

Perhaps my path was set out for me long ago
And I have little choice in the matter;
Yet surely my road is affected by my own choices.
I go forward with what wisdom is granted me;
I consider the way, and my feet in my boots choose the path,
And I am committed.

Yet I can turn back, if I so choose.
It lies with me, in the end.  

Booted feet become accustomed to a journey,
And often they seem to move of their own accord,
Out of habit, without thought -- but it is not wise to walk thus;
Boots treading the path without care or thought are bound to slip,
Or meet unexpectedly the snare or the trap set for them.

Hard it is to break from the routine,
The set path I chose so long ago.
This is the easy way for me:
All for my people, nothing else matters;
A worthy cause, and one to which my boots have long been committed.
Now there is another way I might choose, though it seems foolish.
The boots of my companions will go that way;
I must choose, and so be committed.

Yet I can turn aside, if I so desire.
It lies with me, in the end.

My boots feel a pull, hard to resist;
A pull I have long felt; I let it guide me.
Thus I choose, and my boots tread the path of least resistance.
But I do not see the snare,
And the trap is sprung; I am caught!
I escape it, but narrowly, and not without loss.

My boots are now marked and my feet feel the pain.
I pay the price of choosing my path without thought,
And allowing evil to guide my feet.
Now again I face a choice which is no longer clear.
I do not know what to do;
Which way now shall my feet turn?

My eyes are open, I am no longer blind;
I can no longer allow my feet in their boots to choose without thought.
My very soul depends now upon my choice of road.
Shall my boots take me home, where my heart yearns to go?
Where I am known and respected, and will find no word of blame,
To take up power again, the leadership of men, a throne?

Or shall I choose another way,
A road that is darker, harder?
That road requires change and confession, and taking second place;
A bending of the neck, and a purging of pride,
A road which is new to me, and unfamiliar.
My boots know little of the path of humility.

This path was ever before me, if I had but noticed;
I have always had the choice
Of the way I thought to be weakness;
But now I see that it takes great strength
To turn one's feet in that direction,
When the path of pride has been so long a habit.

May I be given the strength I need to turn, to change my direction;
For I am willing.

My boots are worn from journey long,
Caked with the mud of many places.
Day after day spent in long wandering
Through wilderness, forest, and mountain pass.

Now my boots are set on a different road;
One less easy, and full of uncertainty.
But I shall tread that path, despite the difficulty;
For my boots must now be set
Away from pride, away from power,
Though the path lead me far from home.

I am committed now to turning, I have been granted the strength
To see clearly in the end,
And I shall not turn back.