Monday, March 21, 2016


by Eulie

Here today, gone tomorrow
An unexpected departure.
Did you think she would live forever? 
What was her name again?
No matter . .  she was.

Oblivious to the power she possessed,
Resilient and determined to succeed,
Challenged failures like a mighty warrior,
Armed and exposed to culture,
Fluent to articulate in dilative languages.
Perserverance molded her character.
Instilled values and principles 
Seeped out of her pores
Like a sweet pleasant aroma to your nostrils.

She walked in grace, 
Stepped on pride,
Brushed against hatred,
Embraced unmerited favors,
Willed and focused on the impossible,
Embellished granted mercy
Cherished freedom.

She was. . . Eulie


by Eulie
Why do you love me so?
A sinner
A criminal
A wolf clothed in sheep's garment.
I question your motives
Yet, still. . . 

The stench of my past haunts me.
Tears erupt uncontrollably at the thought of my victim.
A rush of anxiety filters my nerves.
Paranoia lurks and awaits an invitation
To be forgiven.

In my reflection
The mirror reveals stale judgment.
Thus shattered, it will remain.
The memory of my past is like a sharp-edged blade.
It pricks my emotions.
My soul is still torn.
Why do you love me so?

He who rules the world
Mocks my journey toward my Savior, Jesus.
Distraction is posted in every direction
Engulfed with lazy sleep.
Communion with you is  interrupted.
The oasis of my future is clouded with fear, 
Yet, still. . . you love me so.

Discouraged by the present reality,
I doubt your presence. 
Your rainbow reminds me of your promises.
Your hedge of protection shields me with a purpose.

I grieve.
You comfort me.
I claim insanity.
You bestow a renewed mind and self-control.
I attempted suicide.
Through Jesus, you granted me eternal life.

I curse my birth.
You bless my life abundantly.
I'm found in your bosom
Sheltered with grace and mercy.

God, why do you love me so?
Yet still. . .


Monday, November 10, 2014

by Eulie

Destined to survive
Despite my own intentions.
Who in their right mind
Would attempt to disturb
The appointed time?

So when did death
Become an issue?

Depression slithered 
and coiled into my heart.
Weeds and thorns of confusion
Dominated each decision.

Logical reasoning
Was choked out of my life.
Paranoia rested its head
With a butcher knife
Under my pillow.

Hatred was disguised
With inviting smiles.
A toast to the bride and groom.
May it end, ever so soon!

No one in his family
Really knew me.
Only the person I tried to be
For all of them.

Committed to a matrimony
Plagued by deceit.
Vows breached and
Seasoned with conceit.
 Hiding was destructive.
The lie became a monster. 

After the act, a coma.
Then profound sleep
Surreal inmages of the past.
Each memory underscored with pain
Forever etched in my mind.

In prison, an unfamiliar voice
Called me by name
And claimed my life as His own.
I was awakened to faith, relief.
God uses the broken.

Death isn't an issue anymore.

* * * * * * *
For more stories and prison writings visit: 

Friday, May 9, 2014


By Eulie

I am in the process of whole-heartedly embracing my true identity and the value in being God’s beloved. Acceptance . . .my responsibility of my past actions . . .the person I’ve become in Christ . . .the person that I am able to visually face before the mirror, daily.

As I reflect on the roles that I’ve played; like the role of the Super-mom, Daughter, Student, Friend,
Wife, and “Mrs. Got-it-all-together-Lady all dressed up in fake smiles, I realize I was trapped in a dark castle of people pleasing and floated in a small world after all. Lies ate away at my conscience back then . . .lies.

Somewhere in my story I believed I was flawed. So lost within, I listened to the liars and morphed into characters of a devilish fairytale. My dreams of being fully loved broke down and my closest relationships malfunctioned. On the outside, I pretended. I was so put together, but in my heart I knew everything was slowly coming undone. Denial. I wanted a perfect relationship, but it was never perfect from the beginning. The warning signs were blinding my vision.

I wish I knew then what I have come to embrace now . . .the rain of truth. Perhaps my daughter would be alive today. I failed her. I was supposed to protect her, not the opposite. God forgive me.

While in college, I read poets like Henry David Thoreau. He wrote, “Most men live lives of quiet desperation and go to their grave with the song still in them.” I didn’t value the meaning of that, until recently.

In my desperation to please many, I started to lose my own sense of being. And, in the process, I started to disappear! Although others played a role in contributing to the insanity, the reality is my own hands are forever stained by the ultimate demise of my only child. If I could take anything back it would be that day – the day of the crime.

During my trial, I never once uttered a word because it was my responsibility to take the blame.  What the world tried to silence I believe Jesus is asking me to sing – now. Through God’s word, I am reminded that I am the “ Pearl of great price and the magnificent treasure hidden in the field.”

Acceptance comes when I finally believe God accepts me, forgives me, loves me. Now more than ever I am willing to take the risk to even accept myself. My audacity is that I feel safe in my own skin and no longer live in quiet desperation striving to measure up.

Friday, February 21, 2014



 Written by Eulie

Tonight, as I sit here on prison's version of a bed
Everything seems just so right.
Winter season will soon be gone.
The rain falls gracefully
Washing all things exposed to a perfect cleanliness.
Sometimes, I wish life's trials could be washed
away so easily.

It starts with just a little drizzle, at first
To clear up all the surface stains.
And then a downpour erupts - without a moment's notice.

I could have my freedom back
if the word "granted" was stamped.
And, I could be somewhere out there
Away from burdens, free with monitored care.
Soon enough, this prison sentence must expire.

Through it all, I learned one thing.
Those things I once enjoyed could never bring
The peacefulness I now have on the inside
The joy in spirit that I can't hide.

All because I've surrendered life sentences
It's the one thing I've done right -
With the exception of repentance.

So, while I lay here on prison's version of a bed
I will soon bow my head
And say a prayer of gratitude
And petition for help to move forward
Surrendering the past into the future
And making wise choices.

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Le Kompa

by Eulie

I lay in bed and look out the window. 
I see clouds forming on nature’s canvas
And painting the sky with shades of grey.
I don’t need my radio to drown out the everyday
Chaos of my surroundings.
The approaching storm gives my batteries
A much needed breather.

I close my eyes and am transported
To a Caribbean concert hall.
Thunder pulsates through the walls
Like beating drums.

The wind is the guida,
The rain a tambora,
And the lightening clashing cymbals.
The storm is the Maestro and
Together they play Kompa (Haitian Music).

I listen to the music.
It reminds me of my life
Before it was stained like
This barred and soiled window -
A window that has witnessed
Tears of regret for all the misprints
Of my life.

The storm fades. The song ends.
I wish to open the window
And smell the wet earth,
But it won’t budge.
It imprisons me.

One day, I will not have to look
Through this barricade.
I will be set free
To try again and

Go back to life after the storm.

Sunday, September 1, 2013

The Walls Speak

by Eulie
Cell block of Kilmainham prison in Ireland

I know these walls can talk. It's true.
I hear them daily, I can hear them now.
Shhhh, can you?
No? Okay. Come a little closer.
Not yet?
I know it's hard to hear with the officers shouting,
Inmates counting, doors slamming,
And women shrieking in despair.

It's not quiet here. Not ever.
Not even for a minute.
When it's too quiet - something is wrong.

Even in the night, when the noise ebbs and
The daily, mundane routine ends,
The time when my mind takes over,
And the sounds of silence pierce the air
With stories of shame,
Stories of fear,
Stories of bad choices,
Stories of abandonment,
Stories of humiliation,
Stories of poverty,
Stories of neglect,
Stories of abuse and pain.

Even the walls cry out, "Mercy, Grace!"

I know because I hear them.
They cry because they're
ugly, beige cinderblocks - not worth a second look,
Not worth a first, for that matter.
Mostly they cry because nobody hears them.
I know this because they told me.
They scream inside with the longing to share stories,
To talk about mistakes made and lessons learned,
To teach through experience,
To tell others they know what it is like to walk a mile in their shoes.
But no one wants to listen.
Will you read my writings and listen?

* * * * *
Eulie is my pen pal through Letters 4 the Lord.  I am blessed by her friendship and her letters.