The Hounds of Hell
The Hounds of Hell
I.
The curtain opens to the rolling drums
the orchestra begins dramatic tune
with horns who blare their sound onto the moon
a row of strings with color will succumb
soon Mephistopheles takes to the stage
to sing a welcome to adoring fan
while on stage orchestras a slaughtered lamb
His voice a soothing morsel in a cage.
At his heel his dogs leashed in bare their teeth
from North and South he calls upon his hound
who travels head to ground with fire at feet.
They leave a trail of burnt earth underneath
as they will hunt and keep their nose to ground
to gladly feed upon human deceit.
II.
The far North hound with legendary teeth
with spirit displayed upon sharpened fang
to administer a sudden sharp pang
leave a trail of bluish flame underneath.
The Southern hound ravenous for our lung
and nourish upon our withering pain
no witness to the brutal and insane
voracity of Hell Hound’s sharpened tongue.
The East and West are trained to do more harm
then the whispering of fallen angels
they come when air has cooled and we have sinned.
Their reddened eyes upon your soul disarm
then fall on you as dangerous strangers
and find yourself underneath slowly skinned.
III.
Some dying Hyacinths on my bookshelf
do not hide black dog who roams in rubble
how did I find myself in this trouble
there is no escape or use of my wealth.
To notice that this beast is very strange
as its spiral around us grim and slows
a place in chest tightens as my fear grows
yet luckily I’m slightly out of range.
He snares us with a bond of future harm
as his spiral narrows around our feet
he beckons we should come and follow him.
His reddened eyes upon my soul disarm
I hang my head so our eyes will not meet
and fear my fate has become rather grim.
IV.
Why that is a Retriever sniffing around
as it pursues a master who is gone
so pure and innocent as passing fawn
to help him find the scent his nose to ground.
I see a Golden Retriever as said
who frets doggedly about our presence
whether the space we take makes any sense
or can we help find master so he’s fed.
Relief this dog is not a Hound of Hell
a dog, not ghost, who rolls over for pets,
oh look, he wags tail as I throw a stick.
My anxiety with story to tell
had carefully built stage with all the sets
to play with guilt that is layered thick.
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Very well orchestrated poem with great phrasing. How fearsome you have portrayed the hounds of hell. Well done, Jamie.
These poems are quite different for you, Jamie. An interesting read though I must say.
Thank you Phyllis and John. Jamie