Tears upon my pillow.
Blood upon my sheets.
The dagger within my heart,
And the nails beneath my feet.
Needles throughout my skull.
Jagged glass within my hands.
Fire upon my burning skin.
Spikes torn through my glands.
Burning coals upon my back.
Barbed wire tangled on my legs.
Iron stakes through my eyes.
A pitchfork through my head.
Snakes around my fragile ribs.
Maggots eat my hands.
A tear, a gasp, a little prayer.
Still you do not understand.
10-18-1989
Written by Gail Brookshire
Still, we don’t understand you say,
But being tortured
but I can see how you are
molded by depression as clay,\.
We don’t have to suffer that torture
to know how it feels the pain,
Seeing others being in this state
of suffering without no gain,
and not being able to help
feels to me like being in chains.
Please you must know for sure
that when you feel obscure
let me share my light
shining with brightness
and an intentiong being pure,
don’t go away with your sorrow
because by sharing this pain
you may find the cure.
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That’s a touching response. Thank you, Lee. God loves you!
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💓💓
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❤
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