The Hounding Past

A hound is behind me,
Chasing, hunting,
He is after my blood,
And I'm running, panting,
And as I look in his blood-raged eyes, I see,
A similar soul, looking at me
And as the gap he is closing,
And the fear in me's rousing,
To me it appear,
That the dog that is here,
Is nothing to fear,
But no one will hear,
That the mutt that's I see,
Is actually me
Trapped in the past, never free