Poem 140 – The Dogs Outside

The dogs outside are howling,
Echoing through the night,
And when I emerge in the morning
My heart is frozen with fright.
And yet I could not tell you,
When faced with these hounds of hell,
How to make them move –
How to make these black dogs dispel.

Should I assault them from my window,
In the hope that they will flee,
Eventually to surrender, to know,
They can have what they want from me?
Or should I meekly retire,
To some quiet and hidden room,
Concealed from the creatures’ ire,
And hide from these beasts of the tomb?


Dear readers,

This poem is somewhat more simple than many I write. I hope that you enjoy it anyway. It came after a dear friend recommended to me that I try meditation. I did so for the first time this morning, and was struggling to find a way to express the contrast between how I felt after meditating and how I did without it. It was an interesting experience, and I intend to continue meditating to see how it works out. Do any of my readers meditate? Let me know your thoughts – and those who don’t, I’d recommend looking into it.

Kind regards,

The Hapless Neo-Romantic


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