He's like the lightning in the sky each time I feel it near. The beauty of its pretty color sinks beneath my fear.
Sweet tears of love from the maiden of youth
born to give her all, but never to tell the truth.
A skeleton within the family, one who has his way.
He enters through the darkness without a word to say.
The only message that he brings is to shame her life with filth.
Someone save this dying maiden from the man who’s full of guilt.
3-8-91 Written by Gail Brookshire
(by the grace of God)
Four children in a home, violence overwhelming.
Strangers passing through, taking what they’re selling.
Flesh of innocence is invaded to satisfy the trash.
Parents aren’t of any help. They have too much to stash.
Locked in other doors in a home full of tears,
they’re taught to be as bad to understand their fears.
Home, someday, they finally came, but no one changed the scene.
Worse it got to be a child. The world was still so mean.
Teenage years… rebellion came, the young ones learn to fight.
And though they needed someone to trust, hurting everyone made things right.
School was such a drag at times, but came to be the key
to help them understand enough to let themselves be.
Now it’s all so many years that they have seen such crimes.
For growing into young adults was the way to escape the times.
Only through the love of God and the people he chose to send,
were the children able to survive and escape the heartache that will never mend.
So try to understand the note this little message has.
When your children are being abused, stop the ones gone mad!
11-25-91 Written by Gail Brookshire
(by the grace of God)
I feel as if I’m living the life of sand on a beach, on the sunniest days. Everyone is sweating from the heat they feel all over. Their one desire is to hit the water. As they descend from their clothing, they think of nothing but themselves yearning, caring not who they may hurt. There is not even one thought of hurting someone. When all along, I lay there just as hot as they are… burning inside. I cannot run, nor swim within the ocean. I cannot release my heat, flaming at its highest. And the water is only there to tease me, just a taste of comfort for my edges, my so called shores. Yet, it’s there for my protection.
All come forward… racing, running for the water… “The Cool comfort”. Trampling with their feet, they come to my rescue. Shadowing the bright hot rays of the sun… with their bodies, their towels, the things they bring for amusement. I’m relieved of the heat by their abuse. They think nothing of me, except maybe a world of pleasure, which is really a deception on my part. They are really in love with the water, at least for the time being, for their pleasure. The only thing I find refreshing are the children who mold me into sandcastles, bringing me the water to sink within my soil, a chance to live another life. I make them smile, make them laugh. Yet, soon they forget their dream and tear my walls down.
Soon, all will leave, all by the thousands, trampling again my molded edge. Yet, though it may seem they are releasing me from such a long day of torture, they are abandoning me, leaving me alone, to be a victim once again to the sun, and in fear that the ocean may attack with its mighty roaring waves, washing away my memories of the children. As it is, maybe that is all I’m left to dream for, the cool pleasure of relief from the rays with the flow of the ocean.
My paradise will forever be the moonlit nights, when the stars shine so elegantly within the ocean view. Together, we are all as one… the perfect dream for all to yearn. And that my friend, is all we will ever be… your dream.
4-10-89 Written by Gail Brookshire
(by the grace of God)
A story of this little girl, hiding in a closet.
Scared behind the broken door, she has tried to lock it.
Frightened of the things outside, making life a storm
Of violence, rage, and weapons, wondering what will form.
Screaming, hollering, sounds of terror, banging up the place.
If only you could see the look on this little girl’s face.
Tears are running down her cheeks; she cannot close her eyes.
For living in this nightmare has made her paralyzed.
Curled in a little ball, she’s waiting for the kill
Knowing if it never comes, it will be against her will.
Protect this little girl from him. He’s going to commit a crime.
You have to hurry and grab her, there’s really not much time.
Oh NO! He’s broken through the door and found this little girl.
It’s much too late to save her now. He’s going to take her world.
What will she do, now that she’s hurt and he has got away?
Tell me what to do for her, and what it is I’ll say.
Well now this little girl has got a gun within her hand,
And when she pulls the trigger, they will never understand.
Holding it at her side, she puts it to her head.
And though the man is running free, this little girl is dead.
1989 Written by Gail Brookshire
(published in Flight magazine, Spring ’95, page 12)
(by the grace of God)
gaillovesgodspoetry 