Wicked and Morbid Thoughts

Ya know, I know it’s wicked and morbid to think about,
But I wonder sometimes where I’ll be buried.
Will it be in New Salem Cemetery with the rest of my family?
Or will it be beside the lake?
Maybe under a shade tree?
Or near the ocean?
Maybe I’ll die in a plane crash from some crazy notion to actually fly.
Or what about a car accident, like off in a river?
Or murdered?
Ugh… forget that.
I hope not.
God, I pray it won’t be, for my family’s sake.
In Jesus’ name I ask, Amen.
God, I don’t know where I’ll be buried,
But I hope it’s somewhere my family can rest at ease.
Maybe even with the rest of the family would be nice.
But I know from the cemetery meeting,
They’re running out of room in the graveyard.
That’s a shame, huh.
I’m just glad you won’t run out of room in heaven.
Maybe I won’t even have anything left to bury
From however I die.
Oh, I hope not.
But as long as You accept my soul,
I will be at peace, and happy.

1-19-1992 Sunday
Written by Gail Brookshire
PS. This was written after our family cemetery had meeting on running out of room Since then, they have added another side to the graveyard. It’s not all that much more room, but it is where my baby brother and aunt are buried.

TOMBSTONES

Markers of a burial.
Reminders of a death.
Smile for the destruction.
There is no resurrection
For the souls who are lost.
Caskets lay beneath the dirt.
Bodies once embalmed.
The end of a era.
Names aren’t of real value.
They’re left disgraced.
How do you prevent it?
You don’t.
I pass by the gate of the graveyard.
I’ve seen mine.

10-29-1989
written by Gail Brookshire
Inspiration: Because I had so many friends being murdered at a young age,
I was convinced I was to be killed at a.young age too.