The Devil and His Dogs

My kennel is big,
but my will to kill is bigger.
Trained to thirst for blood,
and I will have it.

I hear Him call,
and I am wretched if it is not for war.
He holds me back until I burst;
my leather collar chafes violently at my neck.
He is me and I am Him,
but I am hungry sometimes.
Often.

He barks at me;
I’ll bark back if I feel like it,
but I will obey.
He beats me sometimes,
but I beat me more.
That is the way this war goes;
he strikes at my head,
and I at his toes.
That is all I am allowed.

God help me,
but I will crush the enemy between my jaws;
he will curse the name of The Devil and His Dogs,
but I will see to it,
personally,
that he is wiped from the face of the earth,
my face wiped in his blood.