The Hounds

‘Twas a dark and cold night
And I was still without a fright
Standing in the lonely square
With only me to behold there

Then as I stood—there came a nasty howl
It rang far and true—it made me cowl
To look back at that which made
The dreaded sound I dare not bade
But dare I not know—that which haunts
My life for which it taunts

With all my might
I began my flight
Through the dark and desolate streets
Away from those ghastly beasts
Round dark and rank road
As the sounds draw near—my soul does erode
I know my only hope is that dreaded place
The place, the place, I dread that place

Where the Judge sits on throne
To judge the wicked and those alone
If I run there
I’m sure to die there
To be judged by Him
And condemned to die by Him
There is no hope for me in that dreaded place
The place, the place, I dread that place

But the hounds do come close
And I do lose
I will lose—they shall overtake me
And I shall be there meal

I awoke with a cold sweat drenching my being. I could not fathom the torment my mind had constrained the last few nights. I sat up in bed recalling the many dreams of those hounds hunting me. Yearning to tear their nasty teeth into my flesh. Shivers quivered my spine. I rose from my bed, my knees knocking and my legs weak.

“There must be a solution,” I thought. There was nothing more on my mind as of late, than those hounds and the Judge who awaited my arrival for condemnation. Why should I be judged guilty? What have I ever done that’s wrong? I’m a good man.

But even with all these notions and thoughts I could not escape those hounds. Their howls echoed in my ears. “What’s that?” To my left I could see them! The hounds!

Tearing through the walls
I ran down my halls
Away with wood and plaster
They’re howls a vile laughter
I stood nowhere to run
And they, they had won
Slowly they—on hunched quarters
Creep to my slaughter
I look about me for an escape
But none is to be found
They pounce upon me

Disconcerted, I awoke again. With my many a restless night, I had fallen asleep upon occasion. To refresh my soul, from the aches and torments of my dreams, I decided I should take a stroll.

While out, the fresh cool air rejuvenated my spirits. I felt a younger, much freer man. There was little to be concerned and slight to fear in this vast and beautiful world. Presently my stride became merry and, I daresay, I began to skip. Free as a bird. Once I rounded a corner

however, I spied my neighbor walking his beastly brute. My mood it did alter. My merriment became gloom and death. I thought of those ghastly hounds. Their fiery eyes, their teeth like iron, and their fur as porcupine quills. There is no worse fate than to be hunted by those hounds. My throat caught as I edged away. I dare not return home, for fear of sleep bringing on her sweet and vile enchantment.

I walked deep into the heart of the city, in hopes that my fellow man might save me from my torment. There I greeted friends and fellow inhibiters. For hours, I made conversation and laughed of the good lives we all live in this great city. There was no better encouragement to the soul, I presumed. Presently, I shared a meal with my friends. We discussed the usual things, and ate exquisitely. “My life is well,” I thought, “What have I to care?” As delicious food, the warmth of friends, and atmosphere wrapped me in comfort, there were no worries. My guard it was down. All was well with man.

But nay, I heard then
The hounds!
They came for men
I sat up in my chair
My friends—on end their hair
Bursting through the door
The hounds did pour
Upsetting waiter and guest
They had no rest
Eating more than their fill
They did more than kill

Screams echoed
I darted
The voices of my friend
Leading me back to tend
But I ran, I ran from them
Them those dreaded hounds
How long must I be bound?
I could not stop then
The hounds!
They came for men

I came to in the street. It was dark. No one was out. Had it been real? Or just another nightmare? Did I, a selfish coward leave my friends to die? No, it must have been a dream. If the hounds had wanted to eat me the would have by now. Or did they want me alive?

Whether the sounds of friends calling my name or of those devilish hounds, I know not, but I heard an echo in the black and desolate night. To me it was those hounds, hunting my life. I ran once more. Out of fear and for life, I ran down alleys and roads I did not know.

But the hounds do come close
Yet I—I shall avert my foes
Up the dark and corroded step
To the place I dread the most
To the wicked heavy doors, I crept
Now I do not boast

Of the good that I have done
But only that I, a wretch at heart
Deserve punishment from that One
Knowing I was a compart

“Why have you come here this night?” The Judge looked down upon me.

“I seek shelter from the hounds that follow.” I quivered.

“Why have you not come sooner, my son?”

“I feared that you would judge me and deem me wicked. For you are the one who judges the wicked.”

“But I also save those the dogs bring to me. Had you not been drawn here, you may not have escaped.”

“But what are they? They are not mortal dogs.”

“No, they are wrath. Wrath that must be satisfied. But for those who have been called mine, wrath has already been satisfied. For in me, their appetite is fulfilled.”

The Whimsical Sort

The Hounds