or, The Hound of... Whatever 

Belief trails
Like an untrained hound dog
Baying his complaints behind the massive behemoths 
Of Faith, Hope, and Love. 
Together they've raced over highways 
Byways 
Parkways
Driveways...
Always behind.

No match for the beast of Faith whose spawn he is,
No match for the rippling sinews and trained tendons of Hope,
No match for Love whose beastliness causes even the great to submit to his fangs--

And yet he follows, doggedly, as the canine he is,
Out of breath, out of energy,
Out of luck. 

They can not leave him behind

and so he trails
Help! Thou! Mine!
Belief yelps with each faltering step
Unable to match Faith's strong strides--they have been perfected, almost--

Prayer has already gone ahead, 
Is already engaged in battle,
Blades and swords already snicker-snacking in the distance,
Already drawing blood (his or theirs?)
Already tearing and snarling, waiting for The Gang--
Faith, Hope, and Love already halfway in the air,
Jaws open, saliva dripping, claws outstretched--

And here Belief cowers
And the chains that bind him to the other three grows taut,
Snapping them back just before they hurl themselves 
Over overturned trashcans and banana peels and
Opened tin cans of Uncle Fester's Best Tuna
To reach the jugular of the Thing that holds them back from
All That Is Good in life

And the mass of fur and bone and fang that binds them is this grown-up hound who still thinks he's a pup,
Still tries to sit on laps and crawl into tight spaces,
Still thinks he can live on the milk of Faith, 
Still thinks his name is Belief, when the name on his collar is clearly
ACTION, 
Still thinks the Other Three can handle things quite readily on their own
Thinks he can sit around and watch Homeward Bound with the dogs and the cat
While Faith and Hope and Love go to the dog gym to buff up for "next time."

Still desiring that,
Like some other teams,
Not quite as bold, perhaps,
He could follow through, half a step behind, perhaps...

Or better yet, (next time), fly with his jaws open,
In line with his Partners,
Neck and neck,
Cutting edge on cutting edge


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I found this poem this morning (in my head.) It sprung out so quickly I'm not sure I contained it all. It is, as the title suggests, unfinished. Help me finish it. Yes, this means in concept, in design, or better yet, in its application. 

In other news, I am happy for rest, happy for the day blessed by God, and happy for Hope, who sometimes flies so far ahead of my pack I almost lose sight of him into the dawn of that glorious Day...