Pastels
Tattered masts,
broken oars,
rocking gently,
after the storm.
Still afloat,
soft water ripples,
a quiet whisper,
fills the air.
Pastels appear,
as a sun begins to dawn,
just see the wonder,
can't move.
A rush of warmth,
runs through the skin,
feeling the light,
slowly glowing.
Patience for dry land,
to withstand another storm,
scent of grass still a memory,
to walk again.
Once settled,
the rugged boat drifts away with the current,
but part of the heart,
will always be rocking with the sea.
- Jen Mark
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