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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