The Umbra

The Family That Preys Together
by Jonathon Earl Bowser

The Umbra, Silent, Frozen.
Iron fisted, Tundra.

The Source of sly and deceit.
Evil waits to strike, to drink,
to eat.

Rising from his dark throne,
womb,  
a rank and tortured place. 
Just beneath the center of the Udd.

Buried deep 
in burnt and embers,
black Mucus, Muck and Mud.

He comes.

Foreboding in the wailing wind.

The Umbra's waiting, watching there,
Though you can't see him anywhere.
Wrapped in sheaths of ebony,
draped in stealth and dark is he.
Curling fingers, clenching fists, straining wrists,
 seeking Thee.
The emodinent of misery.

Steepening depths of dank, despair.
Decay reeks, weeps in stale, dead air.

Prickling, something,
slithers down the spine,
  sinews draped in dread,
dead, dark, utters, 
under vines.

Pounding thuds,
reverberating.
Calculating.
You can feel him when he comes
and when he does. 
Run.
 Oh! Children, Run!

The Serpent vile, venom waiting for his prey.

Ye must never look his way.

Quaking, Shaking.
 Now, Forsaking, the living shrink
and shriek. 
 Tremors come and go 
and fear bleeds, its rancid seeds. 

He knows.
He  grows.

Terror feeds his power
In reams of Nightmares,
HE CALLS DREAMS.
He is seeping down the seams 
of every anguished scream.

Uncertainty is he.
Stifling courage in a stare, 
pounding, beating hearts 
break, broken, bled, dead, bare. 

Spirituality lost.

 Sounding Shrill 
yet, Silent in its wake.
Boundaries, invaded,
meshing into he and the doomed, forsake.

He is reaching out to Thee.
He is reaching out for Me.

Feel.
You can feel him near.
You can feel him in your fear.

 Come ye, Nay
 tension stretched across your bones,
 pulled taut again within its folds. 
Something breathes within the blackness,  
within the night shade of his cape,
Steals across the darkness,
filled  
with horror and with Hate.

He salivates.

Umbra opens hooded eyes,
unspeakable his lies,
slits of fire, yellow glare
ye' be immobile in his stare.

Pupils of onyx ore, cold, so, cold
boring through the core.
They see, through, into,
 every living thing.

Anguish brandished without words,
a sword.
In unspoken slashes, etched, cut open,
yet, unheard.
Your soul is Gored.

It can never be restored.
 
He can pierce a heart,
a soul, a brain
 and make a man insane.

Ensnaring, Tentacle like fingers
bone crushing, hooves, pointy, 
spike like toes.
He terrifies he knows!

At last within his reach,
Pleading, as he 
snatches, attaches, rakes,
with curling, gnarled 
and grappling fingers 
his victims 
violated, raped.

He is revealed
to the souls he eats and steals.

Soul is Pulp, Pounded to your immortal un death.
Begging for mercy with your last breath.
Ever to repeat the pain.

Thunder is his tune, anguish is his tomb. 
Gutteral, a snarl, he speaks.
You are mine he shreiks.
Rooting, Rotting, somewhere,
in-between Terror and the things its seen.
Bleeding!
Eyes full of cunning, cutting, Mean.

Ye must never look his way.
Hypnotized your lost.
God's name screaming in your mind!
Only He Is salvation, can save you, 
 at this unhallowed time.

The Umbra dripping  blood
now, crusted  on his sleeves.
Unholiness on knees.

They bend Nay yea,
not to pray for thee
but to plant their seeds of misery.
Spoiled, bitter wines, like gall.
Spit out, tasted,
burnt, re poured afterall.

He drinks from his chalice once again.
He is of the Abyss and Has always been.

Don't look upon his countenance,
don't look upon his face!
He is damnation, evils own embrace.
Muscles, Brute like menace, Might.
Surly, Steel, Seeks, Impales. 
Tension tight.
Eyes are evil wrought with fright.
Pain inflicted in his stare
Hell the look that you will share.

Tangled, fetid, veins of ice and yet, 
teaming heat, searing, sneering, steel, 
in prickling heat.

Now emanating from the bosom 
of his hatred, petrified, breath, vilified.

The Umbra,
 Hell awaits.

You cannot move!
You cannot speak!
He's wrapped around 
thee as ye sinks.
Into murk and muck and mire.
Hearts are broken, yet, on fire,
 consumed in his desire.
Eaten for his pleasure.
The Dark Lord's loathsome measure.

Rotting, foul, smelling flesh,
his breadth and height of Hate
these are his altars celebrate.

He Procreates.

So, hear me! 
Heed me Now!
Heed and tend the Light within,
for his waiting in the trees,
he's the shadow no one sees.
The twists and turns and bends
the erotica they send.
Listen to your inner voice
the one within your soul
and don't go out at night
when the wailing tells you, so.
When the shrill is heard to walk
don't go out after dark.

The Umbra gets you,
 no matter what you think you'll do.
Run! Don't  dare turn around, 
don't look,
For its the last thing 
you will ever see.

When the Umbra comes for Thee.
 
Succumbed to the underbelly
where the Dark Lord lays his head
with the suffering, undead.
Where he waits and grows 
with curling fingers, curling toes.

Hear he is groaning, moaning,
grumbling, Umbra umbling,
retching thunder, frozen tundra,
 down and down and down there,
somewhere out in the darkness
or beyond the raging fires,
the black muck, the mucus,
demon desire waiting, watching far below.

October 9, 1999

By
LaMythica

By Lady LaMythica, Linda A. Copp © All rights reserved World Wide
including but not limited to 1970-2015

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