Squirrels and Hounds

The squirrel’s hell is, for the hound, heaven. 
And the rain, thunder, which flatten leaven,
Quench also the thirst of blossom’d flowers. 
Tears spring forth joyful, in equal power
With grief and lost hope.

Mourning by morning, laughing and crying
Roller coaster emotions’ living, dying.
The hurt exquisite, the joy so fleeting,
My soul stretched to infinities meeting. 
I scream, then exhale. 

My body's aches match (not coincident)
My emotional sickness, my heart, wrent.
Banshees know nothing of petulant need
Neither love, nor hate, apathy nor grief. 
Booming, silent wails.

Solitude unwell, come crowded alone. 
Ghosts of my childhood clatter cobblestoned. 
No comfort at home, no respite abroad 
Nor friends to be hugged, nor embrace from God.
Here Angels don't tread.

There is suff’ring, if that be your call. 
Joy if you can find it, and pain for all. 
Be well, Carnival, vale carne ist
(Maybe flesh diseased can loosen my fist)
There is naught to hit.

Overwhelmed, insane, yet reason sustain’d
I watch myself fall, stricken, weeping, chain’d,
 Alacrit to my lost indifference.
Four parts breath, and two parts belligerence
Pyrrhic victories, celebrat’d alone.

So I am squirrel, and somewhere there's hound,
Their heaven my hell, and for me they bound,
Joyfully chasing this frail, timid beast
No trees up to climb to escape the feast. 
The only way out…

Is through.

Copyright © Matthew Wetter | Year Posted 2025

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