A Portrait of My Lover

This is the way to live, to love, to be.
This is a way to bleed.
This is a way to kill yourself
And give the villain your help.
Standing in his spotlight,
You give him the right to insight
Of what makes you breathe and tick.
This is the way to enjoy the sick.
What would be an easy way
To find an escape… far away?
Surely you don’t want to really flee.
This is the only way to let your lover be.
Try, cry, and die again.
This is the way to your end.
Welcome!

4-14-1994 Thursday
Written by Miss Gail Brookshire
Inspiration: assignment from Creative Writing Class, Spring 1994
Taught by E.P. This particular day E.N. was substituting.

Stolen of Breath

If I could change life,
there would be no death.
What is the sense of living,
if you’re soon stolen of breath?
Life is such a coy thing
with the way it likes to play.
Why does it look to be so cruel
by taking people away?
I don’t understand it.
I guess I never will.
To fall in love and die someday
can be the final kill.
So won’t you try to analyze
the results of even trying.
There’s no use in living
when we’re already dying.

9-19-91 Written by Gail Brookshire
(by the grace of God)
PS. This was written years ago from the hurt of so much loss. Especially the loss of my cousin Dean, who was just 19 and died a week before graduating high school.