Exposing What’s Within

A little girl sad and quiet
Leaned against the tree.
She has failed to save her friend
From a violent tragedy.
A life was lost and thrown away
To hide the sinner’s sin.
But God is watching everything
And exposes what’s within.
A hiker comes across the girl,
And can sense what is wrong.
Both the girls lost their fight
Against someone too strong.
The surviving girl is rescued,
And is evidence of the crime.
Justice is given to the man
Who is now serving time.

12.2.19 Monday
Written by Gail Brookshire
Inspiration: The loss of a friend

Silently Inside

Pain has come and pain has gone.
It’s up and down as life goes on.
Unwelcomed tears, still they came.
You must obey the rules of the game.
No room for fear. Nowhere to hide.
You can only cry aloud silently inside.

The voice will fade. The pain will too.
You must learn to breathe it through.
Trust the one instructing you.
Only they know what to do.
Leave those closing eyes open wide.
You can cry aloud silently inside.

Caught within a world of fury.
Self made judge and jury.
So much noise within the silence.
Penned beneath the raging violence.
Muffled within the voice that tried.
I heard you cry aloud silently inside.

Wasted life upon the floor.
Her Savior shouts, “They’ll be no more!
The life I made. The life I love
Will take no more push and shove!
My child, you need no longer hide.
I heard you cry aloud silently inside.”

2-3-2019 Sunday
Written by Gail Brookshire
“But I will sing of thy power; yea, I will sing aloud of thy mercy in the morning:
for thou hast been my defence and refuge in the day of my trouble.”

– Psalm 59:16 KJV

Shut Swinging Doors

Politics, friends, and rules.
Life is just chaotic.
Just when you think you get it,
You never really got it.
Understanding anything is a challenge
In these days which we live.
There is just so much we have to take
From those who refuse to give.
Shoes, socks, toothpaste…
Are they things we really need?
We can’t protect or clean ourselves.
We still have to cry and bleed.
You don’t understand my message?
I really don’t care if you do.
I’ve gotten past trying to talk
Or giving the benefit of the doubt to you.
You don’t care for my troubles
Anymore than I care for yours.
Let’s just be honest and leave each other alone.
Shut the swinging doors.

Written by Gail Brookshire

My World Fights

My world… it fights….
Over religion, over speech,
Over the right to protect,
Over the right to be free.
My world… fights hard…
Over persuasion, over being fair,
Over who doesn’t belong here,
Over who shouldn’t go there.
My world… fights with malice…
Over the race that no one should survive,
Over who should be spared,
Over not taking even unborn life.
My world… fights gloriously…
Over ethics and rules to the game,
Over losing with dignity,
Over honoring a name.
My world… it fights…
And it fights to rule the world.
They claim it’s all for peace,
Yet all they do is quarrel.

3-4-2002 Monday
Written by Gail Brookshire
Inspiration: Love, War, and Peace

People Are Scary

People are so scary.
They hurt you, betray you,
And change your life forever.
Whether good or bad.
They put on such faces.
A smile can hide a killer.
A wink can hide deception.
What does it really mean
To trust someone
When we really never know anyone?
It is so scary to trust,
To even know people.
They can be so evil.
And even when they are good,
They can come with expectations
That I will not be mean or evil,
And that I cannot guarantee.
That is even scarier.
I am a person.
People are so scary.

10-30-2000 Monday
Written by Gail Brookshire

Silence, A Hero

A lot of people think that the best way to survive a tragedy is to cry for help, but as some of us learn, silence can be the lifesaver. As a young girl, Jodi Manners entered childhood in tragedy. A maniac grabbed Jodi from the sidewalk she was walking on, threw her into a dark van, and raped her innocent body. He then drove a dagger through Jodi’s arm, begged her to scream for pleasure, and smile when she cried. Continuing to cut her young flesh, the maniac told Jodi to let the evil run out of her wicked body, and laughed as she bled.
After the maniac enjoyed his pleasure of Jodi’s pain, he took her to a place far away and threw her into a room with a bunch of girls.They were crying, bleeding, and some lifeless. They laid all over the place bloody and scared, tied to poles and chained to walls, and begging for mercy. There was no telling how long they had been there or how long this had been going on.
Soon after seeing this and being a part of this continuous nightmare, Jodi noticed the violent torture always occurred when the maniac would rape his victims and become outraged when they screamed. He always told them, “You sound like a whore when you beg for my touch.” Then he would torture them until they stopped screaming; even if it meant death. It was something Jodi found it hard to “get use to.”
Finally one day, when the maniac dragged Jodi outside where he had slaughtered some of the young girls, he tied her to a tree and told her she was next. Jodi noticed her hands were slipping from the rope and prayed inwardly for a chance to run. As the maniac laid the shovel he was digging her grave with down and turned to pick up the bodies of the other girls, Jodi grabbed for the shovel and swung it into the back of his head and ran. She didn’t look back to see if he was dead or anything.
Jodi made it to safety far away and was picked up off the streets by the law. After growing up in a group home, Jodi healed on the outside and grew on the inside, alone. She never told anyone about the tragedy; instead she excused her scars as abuse from a home from which she ran away.
Some people would think Jodi needed to open up and tell someone about the tragedy she completely understood, but in this incident, Jodi is the only one who understands the cost of crying for help. So don’t always assume that counseling is the best thing for everyone because if the only thing that can harm someone is opening up about something only they know, it’s better off left alone as the owner’s secrets to deal with.

1-15-1993
Written by Gail Brookshire
Inspiration: Narrative assignment for professor and friend S.J.
There was a mutual profound silence after her remarks regarding this paper meant as a challenge to me because I was a silent person. I was surprised by the unique friendship I found in her supportive silence. I had no idea she thought so much of my writing.

Wicked and Wakened

Wicked and wakened.
The world was willingly wild.
I tried to ease the agony,
But the control belong to a child.
It was such a horrible thing,
The way the world was on top.
With the opportunity to kill someone,
I guess no one’s to say, “Stop!”
So why are you still here?
Did you forget something?
What was the original play?
I want to keep something.

9-17-1992
Written by Gail Brookshire

Buried In Love

As the rain to the soil,
My tears are pouring down.
My knight has lost the battle.
He lies here on the ground.
I cannot wake his wounded heart.
He will not lift his eyes.
Oh, my soul is aching now.
My heart is paralyzed.
Someone take away my pain,
And restore the life of my knight.
My world could never dawn again.
I’m imprisoned within the night.
By his side lies his sword.
I draw it back to lance.
I fall upon his lifeless soul.
We become a buried romance.

3-4-1991 Monday
Written by Gail Brookshire

Loving Was a New Flame

We were friends for the moment.
We were friends for the years.
We were friends with the laughter.
We were friends with the tears.
We were friends after all the pain.
We were friends after the fight.
We were always friends in life,
And then you were taken in the night.
I miss the way we use to laugh,
And the things we’ve said.
I try to let you rest in peace,
But I just can’t forget.
Upon your tombstone, your name is written,
And so are these words,
“We were always friends,
And we will be forever.”

12-7-1990 Friday
Written by Gail Brookshire
Inspiration: the loss of a dear friend

(10) Ten Years

For so long… he wanted me.
For so long… he watched.
For so long… he followed.
And never once got lost.
Every breath I took,
He knew how deep I inhaled.
Every wink I made,
He knew the length in detail.
So many times… he dreamt of me.
So many times… he called.
But never once left his name,
Or even spoke after all.
Instead he waited for a night,
And followed me all the way home.
He let me go on in
To make sure that I was alone.
And instead of making me comfortable,
He only brought me tears.
And for what he had taken from me,
He only got 10 years.

11-29-1990 Thursday
Written by Gail Brookshire
God is my hero

Fear or Faith

O.K. So I’m writing. Big Deal.
I happen to be scared.
The big day is coming. It’s on its way.
And I have to make sure I’m there.
I know it’s all a frightening thing,
But I need to go ahead and face it.
There’s only one way to survive it.
God’s hand. Nothing can ever replace it.
I don’t know what I want to say.
I only know I’m scared.
And though I want to talk about it,
I’d rather just have a hug to share.

11-23-1990 Friday
Written by Gail Brookshire
PS. It’s amazing how God continues to bring up my old poetry at times that are so similar to things I am going through or talking about now. At the same time. praise His Holy name, many things are so different. But if you do not pay attention to the year I wrote them, you could easily think there is something to worry about. I see why different friends address concerns about things they are reading. Please don’t worry. God has been so good to me. He has brought me through many dark pits, and I know I struggle with that darkness at times, but I am NO WHERE NEAR where I used to be. Thank you for caring about me.
God is my hero!! And He loves you too! ❤

Surviving the Knife

Knives,
The wound invention.
Scarred,
There’s no prevention.
Memories,
Unnecessary reminders.
Tragedies,
The unbreakable binders.
Blood,
The tears of a heart.
Sweat,
From fighting so hard.
Screams,
The voice of the weak,
Tears,
A soul with a leak.
Aching,
A natural way of life.
Surviving,
By holding the knife.

9-16-1990 Sunday
Written by Gail Brookshire
God is my hero

Manipulation

Sacred words,
Secret souls,
Tragedies of pain.

Complications,
More frustrations,
Soon to be insane.

Miraculous,
Spontaneous,
So many characteristics.

Deviation,
Meditation,
How do we seem to miss it?

6-4-1990 Monday
Written by Gail Brookshire
PS. Do you get it? No? Good! That’s the objective!

SOULLESS

Deceased…
The absence of a soul.
Buried…
Placed within a hole.
Dead…
Without breath of life within.
Killed…
The victim to one’s sin.
Gone forever…
Impossible to bring them back.
So sad…
The laughter you come to lack.
Irreplaceable…
The one you miss so much.
The body…
Of one you truly loved.

4-4-1990 Wednesday
Written by Gail Brookshire

A Child Dies

A child dies.
What could come to mind to find it was wrong?
Only we can accept the responsibility for this angel of youth.
How can we face ourselves again?
We shouldn’t be able to.
A child lies breathless… lifeless… laughless… and still.
What could you think,
Knowing she can never be awakened?
Nothing could revive her,
Or replace the smile once again.

3-21-1990
Written by Gail Brookshire