reblogging my published poetry
Death is the doctor
Diagnostic and smart.
Aiming to take you
Along with your heart.
Swift and sleek
Clever and coy.
Death is the destruction,
Destruction the ploy.
Candles are burning
For those yet to see.
It may only be hours
Before it’s to be.
Can’t escape it.
It cannot be excluded.
To win the whole game
We must all be included.
Don’t take the moment.
Don’t take the breath.
Don’t give up the edge.
The victor is death.
1989 Written by Gail Brookshire
(published in Treasured Poems of America, Winter ’95, page 23)
(by the grace of God)
gaillovesgod 