Washed Out

I found this poem from 2008 hiding in my files. It was written before I considered myself a writer, and before I ever dreamed of being a poet. I thought it would be fun to share it with all of you.

In fields of grey
and washed out rose,
Beneath a sky
in eternal repose,

Opposite a Rainbow,
its edges torn,
Beside a bramble
full of thorns,

While set against
a horizon, worn,
Laid across
a brook so forlorn,

Is a precious place
imprinted deep,
on wooden planking
where he sat to weep.

He watched
a little boat drift,
so far away
his last loving gift.

Carved from a branch
leaf for a sail,
it bobbed down stream
green foam on its tail.

The lady fair
he had dressed in moss,
her fragile wings
still held high aloft.

With her went his worlds
colour and life.
His soul skipped a beat
at this, his first strife.

©2022 Mary Grace van der Kroef


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Floating Silhouette

Original painting by Mary Grace van der Kroef.

Silhouette upon the waves,
floating over unknown graves.

Ever on towards the light,
yet ever shrouded in the night.

Hear the sound as ripples pass
as the wind propels its mass.

There the ship of constant dreams
journeys on through all extremes.

No port to find, no home to hail.
Forever doomed to onward sail.

Glimpse the Captain where he stands,
points ahead with outstretched hands.

Dreams aglow within his face,
of loneliness there is no trace.

A hero or a madman? Both.
Holding on to dreamers oath.

Passing towns and shipping lanes.
Care for them? None remains.

Busy chasing swirling thoughts,
lost in future plans and plots.

If only he would look this way,
see my wave, remember day.

But ever focused on he goes.
When will he end? No one knows.

© Mary Grace van der Kroef 2020