reblogging my published poetry


It came before.
It came too soon.
It came beneath
The pale lit moon.

It started now.
It started then.
It started after
The winter wind.

It went away.
It went again.
It went straight
For the end.

Was all a lie.
Was all a game.
There were no rules,
But it had a name,


1989 Written by Gail Brookshire
(published in Voices, Volume 1, No. 2, July 11, 1994 Issue, page 5)
(by the grace of God)

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