The hunt

Yelping hounds pack to form a Gorgon's head of gyrating tails ready to turn a stag's heart to stone at a single glance.
Each dog has a pedigree that would fill a ream of paper as have their masters boasting generations of good breeding.
Family trees with branches laden with the names of past landed gentry, their greatest contribution to the land being when they fall in their Autumn years, providing the earth with the same humus as their mongrel serfs.
But these that are currently at the apex, clad in red to match their ruddy complexion which only the liver would disclose whether from action of the wind or reaction to the wine.
These who satisfy their blood-lust on creatures who only recognise such drive in quest for food epitomise all that is base in man.
That they are an anachronism is of no doubt, a desperate clinging to feudal systems when their families oppressed whole communities, today they have to be content mortally oppressing a single creature.
like well-fed cats clawing at a mouse until their instincts, not their hunger, are satisfied, leaving it to decompose, a symbol of the confused mind that is so lethal.

Those sounds, telling you that the hunt is near, go to ground let your heart dissipate it's fear, give you time 'til danger is passed and all is clear.
No words could ever describe the hate I feel for these men who sacrifice life for no ideal, just the Id, to satiate lust for blood they steal life and let it be torn to pieces by your hounds.
Someday the nightmares you inflict will be in your dreams, I just hope I'm around to see you suffer, just to satisfy MY Id.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The bells tolled, they told of you and they tolled for you.
They told of your mournful submission to the lower instincts and their needs and they tolled for your lack of compassion
but this is not necessary, use these instincts do not be used by them, take them to a higher pitch and you will find they sparkle with freshness and only have to be adapted to become creativity.
Paradoxically.
Or take them lower than conscious emotion and explore the cavernous depths that resound with infinite knowledge and bubble with ceaseless activity.
But be careful, if you cannot understand what you find and have gone too far to take it for granted, then you may disbelieve it, which will cause a feedback of negative thought which, as it increases, decreases your acceptance of existence and the hunter of knowledge is chased by an awesome power...which is himself.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- If you listened to your conscience would you be conscious of something missing, would you?
Could you find it in yourself to say you've found yourself in riding to hounds?
Anyone can take away life but does a ritual make it alright, does it?
If you ask me to mind my business then my answer would be derision and insults. (Aw, just piss off!!)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It makes me feel so sad, then again it drives me mad to realise the state of people's minds.
Life is a frail thing but not a rich man's plaything, how far has he come from the days of ice.
It's true the world is hard, death is always the final card in the game and no-one gets another deal.
So shun the ace of spades, take your hand and only raise in the pursuit of life and not ....of death.