Inner Hounds

My night is a friend of the slinky moon,
Which hides behind the dark clouds.
Warm summer winds caress my face,
As I stand trapped in the concrete canopy.

The residual peace is unmatched within,
As a savage storm brews in my guts,
My conscience threatens to rip apart,
Like huts ravaged by Poseidon’s wrath.

Behind me I hear dark growls;
And I turn to see fiery, red eyes.
The hounds have found me at last,
Fear, Pain, Hate, and Envy on my trails.

Fighting them was my one soul purpose;
Which I bravely let forego eons ago.
They’ve been chasing my smell since,
For destroying me is their sole purpose.

If I run I survive, if I stop I perish;
The hounds’ hunger heighting me hell.
But tonight they have me cornered,
Outnumbered, outsized, out-thought.

Fear looks hungrily at my guts,
Drool dripping down his fangs.
Pain measures me up patiently,
Checking if I still have some fight in.

Hate is restless, wants to eat me alive;
Yipping and snarling at my every move.
Envy blocks my escape routes,
Essentially trapping me and my fate.

Yet they won’t attack, much to my surprise;
As if they’re awaiting an order.
As if there’s more to this pack,
A leader, most ferocious, I realise.

A new, loud howl pierces the din,
as a new yet familiar beast enters the fray.
Larger, bulkier and hungrier than any;
The Wounded Pride enters the melee.

This is it, then, in a wild night;
Me fighting my inner direwolves.
This is how it ends, I thought;
Gnawed and eaten by dire wolves.

First, Fear snaps away at my guts,
Pain lunges for my throbbing heart.
Hate tears away my long gone head,
as Envy like always, holds me back.

But Wounded Pride will not join in,
For it is not his job to kill.
His job was to sire the four cubs,
Via his beastly ways with Lust.

Conquered me, finally, they have;
Ripped by Fear, Pain, Hate and Envy.
Yet, keenly finished by Wounded Pride,
But truly killed by an insatiable Lust.

– Funadrius

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Who Art Thou?

The cool breeze ruffled our hair. The fading sunlight fell onto our faces, more like gentle rays than a harsh beams. Looking up, you could see fiery orange between the dark greens of the canopy of the branches. We sat on the park bench, with our arms occasionally brushing against each other. The setting sun signified the end of our time together, and she decided to ask a question whose answer is more varied, elusive, and invisible than time.

“What sort of a person are you?”

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Read more at: The Best Of Halfway To Asphodel: 2015-2017!

To Her Ravaging Memoirs

THRM

I make into my quietude, and try to break the impasse with my heart. ‘Is this a night, or I am merely shrouded beneath her hair? Is this a mere gust of wind or the smells of her? Are these mere chitterings of birds or they carry her message?’ I ask, peaceful and sagely. Even though I know that it’s not her, but this wretched heart is obstinate. ‘She’s here,‘ it beats. ‘Here somewhere.

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Read more at: The Best Of Halfway To Asphodel: 2015-2017!


tangytuesday BlogAdda’s Tangy Tuesday Picks – August 16, 2016!