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!

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