M.S.A. poetry | Who I am

Please don’t hit me mommy

Daddy make her stop

Hey, shut-up and take it like a man

You did the deed, you pay the price

I could hear the screaming from my own house

Tears started rolling down my cheeks

As I remembered back to the days of my own youth

Where punishments could have been handled

Without the stings of the belt

The burns of my dad’s cigars

Mommy’s slaps across the face

As I came back to reality

I heard the pleas of please stop

I made my feet move

Walking towards my phone

I dialed 911

I explained what I heard

I hung the phone up

Placed my keys in the door

Walked to their front porch

Beat on the door with my fists

The door opened brisk

Cursing me to leave right away

The little one peeked from the side

I held my arms out

He raced towards me with tears

The same tears we both shared

Risking being shot at or hit

I raced back to my home

Tearing open the front door

Locking dead bolts and more

I prayed for the almighty God

To save this child for my sake

To take all the guilt I had born

To wipe the memories away

To give the child and myself

A new life with new eyes to see

Then the sounds of the sirens came near

I heard the screams of put your hands behind you

I peeked out my window

As the dirt and the mud washed away

I turned towards the little fellow

And he buried his cheeks in my bosom

We shared tears for the past and tomorrow

Written by,

Terry Shepherd

10.29.2014

I just got home from meeting with Hospice. I was going through my Facebook to see what I may have missed and I stumbled across one of the sites that I frequent. There was a lady who had written a poem for me and I so wanted to share it with anyone who is willing to read it. Here it is:

Marsha McKneely Ault

Each Time
For Terry ShepherdEach time you take a cloth to wipe his face
each time you hold his hand to say grace
each time you feed him bread
each time you change his bed
each time you make him dry
each time a tear escapes from your eye
each time you watch the rise, the fall of his chest
each time you put off your own rest
each time you pray for strength to carry on
each time you sing his favorite song
each time you check his health
each time. . .

you serve the Savior himself.

It seems perfect timing is what God always does. Nothing too early or too late. I needed to read this poem at this precise moment. Through the visit with Hospice I learned that most likely Al will not be able to rise from bed within a few weeks.

This will in turn cause him to have to drop going to the Day Program. She said that when that point comes he will give up and will himself to die.

I am going to do every single thing in my power, be it medications or any other means I have available to me to make sure he continues to go each and every day until he can no longer take it.

He thrives at Day Program. He is able to have conversations with some one other than his sister. Many times he is in much better humor than here at home. It isn’t that he doesn’t love me. He just needs friendships.

Here at home he is comfortable enough to feel his pains. I can’t keep him occupied enough for him to overlook his illness, although I try.

These weeks and months coming ahead are going to be very trying on my heart and soul. God will never leave me. He will get me through this to the very end. God used Marsha to give me more strength to carry on even through a drab Monday. Thank-you Marsha and thank-you God

Here is Marsha Ault’s link to her Facebook if anyone is interested in getting to know her and her works.

https://www.facebook.com/marsha.ault/about