The Prisoner Who Guards the Bridge 
By Jonathan Earl Bowser

Dedicated to all those who have been there and survived!

Gossamer Walls

 

Hell;s Fire is the Guilt, Revulsion and Agony of having to be Me!


Sometimes the walls are all of Gossamer,

no more of stone and staid,
fading into sheaths and shields of mist and veil
where, Excalibur once laid.
Excaliber of the heart
Whispers spilling down their seams
breathing memories,
and yet, again
I am impaled.
For momentary seconds,
these thin lines hold me in,
something I call frozen,

Stricken.

Icy stares and then thunder storms begin.
Drawing me into them,
shadows of another time.
Pulling me closer to them
though I recoil, I cannot find
the strength to move away from them.
I stand there and I ache.
This prison is consuming me.
It tortures me, I break.



Entities are waiting there
in these fragments, bits of misery.
Time's, drifting like Scenes that atrophy
before me, agony.


I do not want to see them,
I do not want to feel.
I do not want to believe in them
but, these truths have been revealed.
In mists like this realities 
that I knew once in time

bring reflections of the darkness
navy blues, so, many grays of mine.
The perceptions, the rejections,
the confusions and the pain
self inflicted or conflicted,
assaults of body, mind and brain.

I go Seeking Peace, in vain.

Hours, days of tyranny,
terrified to wake.
Every single morning, wore the gore
of last night's never ending queries, emotional earthquakes.

Shame and humiliation were the skies and seas of me
taunting always wanting boring through the core of me.

Once, banished to the other side
of my walls so, strong, so, steep
concealing this little piece of me
I lived here in this compromising sleep.

Once Gone, they now, come back to see
if the woman who is living here
has forgotten all of thee.

Or will she now, accept it all
every part of me and thee?

Is she really free?
Will she ever be,
as long as we wait on the other side
of Gossamer's vast dark uncertainty.

Passages of forgotness, now,
remembering, why have you forsaken me.

Dancing along the edge of sanity.

Stricken.

I am again in time questioning what this entity he be.

The Haunt knows of its heartache,
the Ghost knows it once was,
the Goblins and the Gargoyles,
two sides of darkness prompts
my Guardian Angel's go, back to the me above.

Hell's too deep for these ones,
white lights aren't welcome here.
They recede.

As I plead for some kind of dignity.

I begin to bleed.
The mortal wound, once inflicted
torn open again for all to see.

I am sick as it crawls up and over me.

Oh! but to be, NOT of this.
This shadow dark and rank
who seeks me through these mists
where my living body sank.

I do not wish to find him here,
somewhere inside of me.
Probing for the rest of what I'd saved from him for me.

The entity!
The Family That Preys Together
by Jonathon Earl Bowser


The beast sits waiting, watching,
drooling, tongues whipping, lashing out for me.
Yellow slits for eyes, he is the soul of sly,
where cloying, toying fingers go to covet and to pry.

His fingers reach for me
this entity I'm fleeing,
this other part of me.
Clutches at my sanity,
and I fear I'm lost
in memories and heartache.
They are his vengeance and his lust.

For what be this some trickery
that calls me back to you!
I don't believe I'm seeing this or feeling all of you.
But, soon the tension, terror, begins to follow me.
He is just outside the borders of this mangled, scarred body.
I struggle for my breath.
I struggle for my soul.
This entity is frightening
I cannot give control
over to these feelings,
these things the reaper shows to me.
Sniveling in the repulsion of this dank uncertainty.
I wish I never saw you, 
I wish I never knew the pain, 
the wounds inflicted by the scythe and saber too.

Slashing is but agony turned inward to accost
the ugliness your feeling for this revulsion 
and this loss

But however, does that piece of soul that was never given
or, Nor raped by you
Live on, go on, to grow and prosper too,
to forsake
this gnarls and gusts,
these fevered thrusts of you.

I'm afraid. I'm going over,
to these rotted wastes in time
though I have survived them once before,
in another place and time.
I want them to go back with you,
into, those Dark Ages, that's your time.

Sometimes, the walls are all of gossamer.
The things I have forgotten come back to me,
with a violence I am ripped open revealing this 
and all the many gashed and bleeding parts of me.

I do not want to feel you,
I do not want to be touched.

I do not want to be this soul that cried for want of much.
I wrail, I writhe, I wither in these films of slithering mists.

 Crawling for forgiveness for this entity I've kissed.

Sometimes the walls are made of Gossamer
and I feel,  I may never return,
to sunshine, safety, my lover's arms,
and kiss, Godliness.
So, dark is this Abyss,
unclean, empty, un-holiness.

My peace is gone forever more.

Till Gossamer walls vanish
And the stones are bourn, once more.
They rise up into this prickling heat
in just the nick of time,
to tear me away from it and this.

Now, Screams the entity from the other side.

Sometimes the walls are all of gossamer
and then, it is all too much for me,
to see, to fight again,
this beast who waits for me!

 

June 4, 1999

By Lady LaMythica

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