JudithThe moon was bright, the sun fresh dead,Judith by Filiuk
When Judith o'er my doorstep tread;
When sulked the sky and slept the birds,
Earth's ceiling lit with stars in herds.
She gave a kiss- "It felt as two"
I told her in a charming woo.
She gentle smiled and granted me
The pleasure of her mirth to see.
We took of wine, with modest sips,
Then, soft, drank from each other's lips.
A cautious touch, a chaste embrace;
The curving of her spine to trace.
Fair Judith shared with me her dreams-
"I'll make them true, though hard it seems."
Then laughed she, loud, at my expense,
Still, gentle lovers were we hence;
For when the birds sang once again,
Our hearts were nevermore the same.
Obsessed, like little animals inside my headObsessed, like little animals inside my headObsessed, like little animals inside my head by Filiuk
Keep scratching summer's lair off the rubbled walls,
Covering them with mud paint, soaked in mourning gowns.
Today the zoo is closed; the gentle beasts roam free.
My coveted lamb is dead; slain, in a strange wolf's paws.
The agnus Dei, privy to the good of God,
Unknown to dangling fruits of centred garden trees;
Not long still spared of Eden's bloody treasury.
If ever it returned to me, the bitter hope's mahogany
And ivory dreams of lakes with bottoms brown and still.
But no use dwelling on past visions in this wake;
Death swift takes her due, inclemens in extremis.
Sick, like lepers juggling dainty with unkempt limbs,
I'll lick my wounds in unlush forrests' orangeries.
When dull, the morning fingers seep into my skullWhen dull, the morning fingers seep into my skull-When dull, the morning fingers seep into my skull by Filiuk
When bright, the tentacles of light spur tickles unto me,
I know the new of day is come
And drafted throws me in the onset tide
Of poignant coffee cups and stark-dry bread;
The rearing drops of sweat on heavy gears
And flattened wheels, pushed through the cunning holes
Of asphalt Flemish roads.
When weak the sun bears down, wearied,
Unto dewdrops; hinges of diffusing light,
I know the night is done
And eye's rest must cede to the rallied bright.
No quarter given to the outworn mind,
Whilst limbs, stretched over lengthy hours' labour,
Drag along the yearning fibre;
Fabric torn and worn again.
Writers--club Literature Contest ~ Win Subbies!Hello, writers of DeviantART! This is RollingTomorrow, founder of Writers--club, announcing our newest contest for all writers! There are some great prizes to be won, including a dA Subscription and Points!Writers--club Literature Contest ~ Win Subbies! by RollingTomorrow
Perfect Strangers. Interpret at will, any genre is acceptable. You can submit poems, short stories, or any other form of literature as long as it holds to the theme.
There is no minimum length for short stories, but they should not exceed 7,000 words. Poems of any length will be accepted.
First Place [Bullet; Blue]
3 Month dA Subscription from RollingTomorrow
1 month journal feature from RollingTomorrow
1 month journal feature from DrMeh
Member of the Month feature on the Writers--club home page
[Bullet; Blue] Second Place [Bullet; Blue]
80 [Points] from :devthefinalh
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Personal Quote: "3.02 The thought contains the possibility of the state of affairs which it thinks. What is thinkable is also possible." (Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, Ludwig Wittgenstein)