Author: Gordon S. Bowman III

Writer, Visual Artist, Blogger

Carried Away

Life flowing from my heart

Is cut down by rivers of doubt.

The rushing water wears down

My early oaths and affirmations,

Slowing my faith to a halt.

My simple plan to ditch the man of the gospels,

Runs into blockades along the way.

Nests of love, peace and grace

Call me away from my solitary journey.

I sometimes fight the current,

Or allow myself to rest,

But naturally I am carried away

By the fantasies and delusions

Of my silly imagination.

Not Resting

Neon bikes strobe laugh elbow monster trachea

Destroy aluminum casserole covers close the dog

In the darkness of the garage wound my knee on

The fledgling goose beak as I walk through the park,

Home is where I rest, but I am not resting.

The Fight

With a battering ram strapped to my forehead,

I push through the glistening walls of the great cathedral.

But for what?

Has this victory won me anything of value?

After all, the war has already been won by my adversary,

And this stub in the toe is no big loss to him.

My screams in the darkness win me no favors,

Gain me no pity, although he may shed a tear.

Shall I continue to throw stones through stained glass windows,

Knowing I am only hurting those I love and who love me?

Whom am I fighting, anyway, if not myself?

Your Image

Terrified, I’m

Shaking in my shoes.

Overwhelmed with

The power of you.

But what have you ever done

To instill such fear in me?

I carry this trauma

Like a bag of gold.

I remember those words

That you didn’t speak,

And I am left

Scared and cold.

That hand that you

Didn’t hit me with,

That accusation

That you never made.

Whom have I twisted

Your image into?