The Sentinel
There exists
a chamber in the garret
where all the secrets dwell,
slumbering beneath
the dusty shrouds
meant to conceal them
for eternity.
The passage, a narrow one,
remains barricaded,
padlocked and bolted,
defended with
the strength and stamina,
the fervor and fortitude,
the power and potency,
the brawn and bravado
of a battalion amassed
for that sole mission.
I alone am the sentinel!
I hold the keys
to where none
have gained admittance
to browse
amongst the hidden skeletons
I have entombed
within this vast
and sinister space.
The piercing cries long silent.
The briny droplets long absent.
The sanguine fluid
no longer dripping
with a life of its own.
There is no mercy here.
There is certain death
within these walls,
not even a labyrinth for escape.
I alone am the sentinel!
I ofttimes retreat
to this room alone,
silent, yet deafening,
an arsenal of chaff,
separated and stored.
I quiver at the visions emerging.
Clamor! Despair! Horror!
They invade,
frightening the subconsciousness,
and leaving me
trembling and aghast
at my own weakness.
I question my own sanity
for my desire
to share my secret room.
If I create this fissure,
I consent
to the puncture in my armor.
I shoot the arrow
piercing my own heel.
I alone am the sentinel!
Once the door is breached,
can all be contained again?
For the crack that lets
the light flood in,
no matter how small,
provides a crevice for
the darkness
to eclipse the sacrosanct,
seeping like sewage,
stifling and devouring
one’s soul.
Should I torch
this den of deception
and all contained
within these wicked walls?
Is this the panacea I seek?
Would the curse
wither languidly
or burst into a beastly blaze,
spewing and spitting,
damning all
until only ashes remain?
I alone am the sentinel!
Should I apply
the finishing stroke?
Issue forth the quietus
ending the madness
before it multiplies,
destroying lives,
infecting minds,
tainting my own thoughts,
mutilating good intentions
and making cadavers
of all my dreams?
This cursed crypt
conceals a thousand deaths
and I am the only casualty.
I alone am the sentinel!
My mind is weary
and my shoulders slump
from the weight,
not ballast for stability,
but a crushing burden
much too heavy
for this mortal.
I seek a confidant
and together
we trudge the staircase,
the treads unfamiliar
to the sound
of extra footsteps.
The hinges creak at the task,
as if they are speaking,
questioning,
repulsed by my lunacy
and the interruption
of my own blockade.
I alone am the sentinel!
The heavy door,
leadened
with all the sorrows and grief
of my existence,
slowly eases open,
inch by inch,
And I behold
that all is as I left it,
marking time,
alone in the darkness,
banished to this mausoleum,
impervious to all interlopers.
What have I done?
Shall I set them free?
I alone am the sentinel!
Once the barrier is breached,
I apprise my guest
of every ghastly demise,
the pain,
the suffering,
the wrath,
hoarded in this cache.
The wickedness hiding
within this dungeon
recedes,
not even a whimper
from the beasts,
before the phantom faces
dissipate.
Felled by faith!
Beaten by benevolence!
Conquered by compassion!
Vanquished by virtue!
As my tears dry
and my voice returns,
the radiance bursts through
and floods the vault
with an
ethereal, blinding brilliance,
as if Hope
has finally soared
from the pithos of old.
The sins are exposed
and my tortured heart
is free and aglow
with new breath.
And my life continues!
2019 Julie Plott Counihan. All rights reservedIf you enjoyed this article, then please REPOST or SHARE with others; encourage them to follow AFNN. If you’d like to become a citizen contributor for AFNN, contact us at managingeditor@afnn.us Help keep us ad-free by donating here.
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