Huff and Puff

From the dust upon the ground 

you read of walls that rose up, 

built of nature’s bones to surround 

our fragile weary ones and cup 

lives within, protecting us from 

the eternal and infamous hound. 

Always in every single kingdom 

we were stone-laden, bound 

safely inside as one little pig, 

wishing to never be found. 

Beyond, the light glows bright 

and warms our earthy shelter, 

but above safety from howling plight 

we yearn for a lofty throne, higher 

than this shield that smothers sight 

of the cunning, shifting hound that lurks 

not simply outside but with our fright 

within our minds; may it never smirk 

again with howling winds as it bites, 

we shall live without wolves within us. 

Rising now you look around 

and see not a single twig, 

fear not for there is no sound, 

no noise but that which we make, 

and a howl cut short from the light, 

trapped within the walls of the pound. 

There is no more left for us to take 

and we lie in wait, heavy and round. 

Never such a whimsical sight, 

human hounds that only wound.