| Him Part Five (cont.) And as he knelt and concentrated To form the black clouds above, as I have said; And as the painting created itself, Reality copied the clouds overhead. Aware of true clouds, not, I was, Nor of the fierce wind blowing the autumn trees. My attention lay with self-painting art And the movement in my little yellow leaves. But mine eyes shifted to the painted deer, For right there before my wide, non-blinking eyes The deer did change to a nondescript form, And into a hound it metamorphosized. And under the tempestuous clouds Not, the hound, then did cry nor then did whimper, But the hound then did moan and groan and howl And drooling as it spatted evil-tempered. Truly this was the same hell-bent hound I had encountered only the night before. Yes, it had to be the same hell-bent hound That I encountered in just the night before. Did this mean, could this possibly mean That I would now encounter the long black hair, The long black hair that covered ghastly eyes, Ghostly, steel blue eyes from my awful nightmare? With this thought I raised my head to see The yellow trees and to feel the winds blowing. My first time to know that this all was real. Tension in my chest, now was truly growing. Stood, I, still, while the hound from hell stared; He stared, for what seemed to me like an hour, As a roaring lion, walking about Hunting and seeking whome he may devour. Then, suddenly, with little warning, The beast did bound the babbling brook with great ease. He charged at me; I knew not what to do With nowhere to hide in all the golden trees. Nowhere to hide and too scared to run, I thought of this morning's sunlight on my chest. With the thought of the light I closed my eyes, And the fear in my heart was then put to rest. |