Irrational Rhyme

Roses are flowers.
Grass is green.
Making sense…
what does that mean?
Birds can fly.
Trees can sway.
Might as well
take it easy today.
Family fights.
Family events.
Not too easy
to tell the difference.
Balloons can pop.
Tires can blow.
When the air escapes,
I’ll just let go.

5-28-12 Written by Gail Brookshire
(by the grace of God)

Fine Lines

These fine lines that separate me and You,
impose on being free to confide.
Those evil words having to enter Your ears
leave my pen tongue tied.
So many reasons not to revisit.
So many reasons I have no choice.
The paths of yore are so dark and evil.
You tell me to listen for Your voice.
Destructive thoughts that seem to persuade
continue to grip so tight.
The father of confusion suggests, “Doubt.”
But You clearly state, “Fight!”
How do I address such ugly matters
with a Holy and Reverent God?
How can I be so sure my memories
are the source for the problems I’ve got?
Approaching the edge, I realize
I’ve already crossed.
I’m just trying to leave a trail
so I won’t get lost.
Lovingly rebuking me, “That’s not Faith,”
You encourage me to go on.
Faith is not faith
unless it’s You I am counting on.
Step by step,
I’m walking with You.
Whatever lies ahead,
You will see me through.

12-12-16 Monday
written by Gail Brookshire

You Don’t Say

Days come and go.
Events occur and pass.
Many questions go unanswered
because they’re never asked.
The clouds are gazed upon.
The days are far spent.
No words are heard in the wind,
though I pause to listen.
Are You trying to speak?
Are You trying to convey?
Am I genuinely focused?
Am I waiting to obey?
Do I trust Your silence?
Do I trust Your way?
When You only ask for faith,
do I trust what You don’t say?

April, 2016 written by Gail Brookshire

Anxiety Fears

Afraid of Fear.
Afraid of Life.
Afraid of Confrontation.
Afraid of Strife.
Afraid of Loneliness.
Afraid of Crowds.
Afraid of Silence.
Afraid of Being Loud.
Afraid of Self.
Afraid of Others.
Afraid of Someone.
Afraid of Another.
Afraid of Weakness.
Afraid of Strength.
Afraid of Brevity.
Afraid of Length.
Afraid of Dying.
Afraid of Surviving.
Afraid of Relapsing.
Afraid of Reviving.
Afraid of Life.
Afraid of Fear.
Afraid of Making it
One more year.

6-2-15 Tuesday written by Gail Brookshire
What my anxiety can be like.

Cleaning the Slates

The noise… what is that noise?!
That loud and ugly sound!
I’m seeking for that unpleasantness.
I wonder what will be found.
Sin! That loud and ugly monster
is roaring down below.
The many temptations that beset me
are refusing to let go.
They scream. They shout.
They threaten me with fear.
They fail to notice
You standing so near.
They beg. They plead.
They forget.
They’ve already filled me
with enough regret.
They whine. They cry,
and act as if they care.
They forget
I’ve already been there.
I fill with anger
and display my hate
by casting stones
and cleaning the slates.
The noise is dying.
There’s a calming quiet.
You have won
this fierce and ugly fight.

3-29-15 Written by Gail Brookshire