>
She wasn’t broken plaster
She wasn’t boxed light
She wasn’t crawling shadows
She was the maiden on the prow
of a ship long stranded
on reefs of musty
memories
She was beauty
She was grace
She leaned for me
pointing
to the next hope
of rebirth
of whispered echos
down hollow
walls of decision
Gerald the Writer 
>Beautiful, Jerry. The figure is the focus – and she seems oblivious to where she is. But we're not.
>Like the way you present all the things she was and wasn't; leads me to think her in purgatory frozen in her fall. Nice. Thanks for your earlier comment, Jerry. Hope things get better.
>grace pointing towards hope….that is beautiful Jerry…blessings…throughout the season….bkm
>she wasn't broken plaster…excellent opening line – i like the hope in your poem jerry
>Love the way you interpreted the image. Good work.
>I love reading all the different poetry and how each of us see something different. "She was the maiden on the prow.. on reefs of musty memories" I love those lines. Thanks for the visit and nice comment.
>Bless the direction givers…
>this part stands out to me, 'she was the maiden on the prow of the ship long stranded on reefs of musty memories'awesome!
>i love that you pulled her image into a ships figurehead…great one shoot…cheers pete
>She reminds me of freedom … breaking from the bonds that hold us and reaching for our potential.