The barking stopped!
“It’s about fucking time”, I cry.
I’m left at my wits and even went to rouse the owners at their extreme negligence-
Ironically they weren’t around. The guilt lingers each passing- the sad eyes, piles of shit,
swarms of flies, weighted chain, rusted roof and its ignored cries for attention, freedom and love. I walk down from the steps triggering the night light; its paws outstretched, dead blank stare- striking eyes; eyes that force you to question your own freedom. And with each eye so diverse, they create an ocean of thoughts- one pulling with such ferocity while the other pushes you to the brink of lost hope. My mind soon starts trying to deceive itself- what a wonderful tool it is. I soon begin telling myself that the dog doesn’t know any better and it would be lost in the outside world and takes comfort knowing it has shelter and food. As hastily as these thoughts emerged a forceful hand that resembled saviour reached down from above in an attempt to end the lies and mistreatment, and instead of yanking these thoughts to safety- the hand, now locked at elbow, rigidly halted all thoughts from ascending, as if a row of defensive linemen were guarding the quarterback, not a breathe could penetrate. Soon my self meditated lies turned to anger, and anger to frustration. Now passing, I wished death upon this sulking mutt as a way out of its eternal damnation. Bless this mutt with death- I’ll lend a swift blade and give the honour of expelling its routine spiritless life. Those piercing eyes act as daggers each mornings pass and their absence will undoubtedly leave the same weight.
5/27/09
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