Not Alone

The trod of booted
feet.
Never lift a face
to great.
Hands in pockets
deep.
One block left
to defeat.

Alone yet not
alone.
Carrying thoughts like
stone.
Hunching shoulders
prone.
Coming night, the
unknown.

But something is
unseen.
An aura somehow,
clean.
Wholly real, so
serene.
Yet hidden by a
misty screen.

It shimmers on the
edge.
Surrounding like a
hedge.
Embodiment of a
pledge.
Leading away from the
ledge.

A gentle hand at
night.
When it’s fight or
flight.
Reminding of the
right,
To walk through lonely
night.

©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef


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Walking Socks

Holes in socks
Speak of walks.

Wrapped in leather,
Tied up tight.
Perspirations staining fright
And the stink.

Holes on soles,
Or heal,
Or toes,
Tell a tale of travelers’ woes.

A mile farther than planned.
Foot sore still,
Bend to paths commands

Pull them off at end of day.
Wash?
Or simply throw away?

One inside the others fold.
Wadded,
Oder controlled.

Dumped upon the bed at last.
Remnants of times now past.

Crusted with old sweat.

©2021 Mary Grace van der Kroef

Just a bit of fun.


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