Pouring Pain

I kept crying, but no one heard me.
The man alive… just had to hurt me.
He stole a life from a smiling child.
He placed a knife and drove it wild.
He pushed and turned as his hand enjoyed.
The endless torture, my body annoyed.
There wasn’t any justice to the attack.
You kept on going, never looking back.
You were so scared of what he’d do,
If someone helped me and it was you.
You coward. You just left me to die.
I screamed for your help, but had to cry.
You left me in blood, my body pouring out.
You couldn’t rescue me, or help me out.
Stay away, you deserter. I’m dead.
You said you cared, but left instead.

8-23-1992 Sunday
Written by Gail Brookshire
God is my hero.

The Cool Comfort


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)