Wet Tombstones

Stone – so ice cold
And heartless even more.
Cobwebs form on the edges.
Spiders shut their door.
White – the ridges on chipped pieces.
Sand so old but moist.
All the grass is growing back,
But the fall is coming first.
You creep beneath the dirt
And scare yourself away.
Digging for safety
You beg for any normal way.
Why are you so confused?
This is where you wanted to be,
Beneath the moistened rock
To set the tombstones free.

6-17-1992 Wednesday
Written by Gail Brookshire

Deadly Treason

Tragedy in a heart so young.
So filled with faith and trust.
Given to the prince of thieves
To be murdered by the poisoned arrow.
Life is not of any just.
Weeping willows cry with the wind,
To know the soul is dead.
The young lady fell in love,
And lost her life and heart to her head.
Scars are not too traceable,
For the wounds were never of being.
The king gave the great command
And she never even felt the bleeding.
Graved within a graveyard bed,
The bones rot to make escape
Of the heartless tragedy reigning
That the king and queen had made.

3-22-1992 Saturday
Written by Gail Brookshire
PS. This was before I only thought of One King!
God is my hero!