DFC XXVIII. Diebhidhe: Dawn to Dust by LaBruyere, literature
Literature
DFC XXVIII. Diebhidhe: Dawn to Dust
Yes I fight you--yes for us
A raging love's rightful lust
New becoming day by day,
Loving woes and wants away.
Yes, I trust you--yes to you
Hold my heart, marked whole and new,
Full of darkness, feigned delight
Reigns the noiseless rule of night.
When I love, what have I left?
You have brought me all your best.
This shall carry, shorn and cruel
Married, mournful, forlorn, a fool.
All I am in pockets pressed
All our poor souls once possessed
Each to other, eager, thrust
Beseech thee, lover, dawn to dust.
like a mirage in the heat
the marmalade moon hangs low
against the mind
silent as we, but crazed, crazed as the flame
this was the resurrection in the desert
I have no culture;
hands lie with religion;
laugh in the troughs between the waves whitecaps;
here in this room, desiring you
as a foreign sail threadbare against the sun
on the long shore, lit by the moon
I'd be substantial
yet hidden
pouring a Scotch
to live in a name
as raiment, as songs of the harp-player
and nobody buys-
that's the way they are
an ancient bankrupt master of this house
brandishing the sword
far now from all the bannered ways
who has no aim but to
Stone-cutters fighting time with marble
like dust blown through the streets of Rome
some motion ever unspent
to look at when I liked
they are gone.
they have gone to feed the roses.
I seek you earnestly, I thirst and burn
With longing just to see you glorious fame;
Your love better than life, I live and yearn
To praise you with my soul and bless your name.
I stay up late, and ponder through the night,
Beneath the darkest shadow of your wings;
My soul hides from the cruelty of might,
From the ruin vindication brings.
Rejoice, rejoice with all your loudest voice!
His paths are lovingkindness, they are truth;
Each winding road, not merely those I choose
As I approach the waning of my youth.
Not dwelling on all that I have to lose,
I look and see what covenants have bound
This life together, made it sound and whole.
I think of testimonies: surer ground
To walk and make the value of the toll.
Oh how they keep me in my wanderings deep!
We all began where Psalms of lament must:
Within the confines of a cavernous grief,
In utter darkness, pain as coarse as dust.
My soul there waited for the Lord’s relief,
His hand to lift, His face to shine with favor.
And when He came I could not help but sing
With joy that only pain could help me savor,
With gratitude for His delivering.
But those who walked before me lagged behind,
The darkness hid their morass underneath;
Now years have passed, but still their mired minds
Have yet to move those weary, grieving feet.
I’d hoped by now the whole Psalm they’d rehearse,
But they have yet to pass the second verse.
The light of stars is burning high above;
So faint, they shimmer far beyond my reach.
I cannot fathom universal love
No not like this; not as I here beseech
The love abiding far beyond them hear
My plea for hope in darkness that persists.
The void between us stretches. Love, come near
And take the cold and aching in my fists.
Turn it into life, to flesh and bone,
Take my heart and split it with the light
Of glory that comes to me, here, alone
Beneath the stars in silent, waiting night.
The fear that crowds out radiance must flee
Before the light that waits in hope for me.
Another Octacula Approaches by ProjectDFC, journal
Another Octacula Approaches
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Stamp made by the formidable and fierce HugQueen (https://www.deviantart.com/hugqueen) - go give love!
Welcome To the Third, Annual
Welcome to the third year of Octacula! In honour of October and all it cree-eights, Octacula shall reign throughout the entirety of the month. Whether it's the tenth month or the eighth (Oct as in eight baby).
Octacula features eight forms divided into two groups. The first group consists of:
:ninjabattle::matrixfight: Form-idable Foes :matrixfight::ninjabattle:
Chant Royal: The Chainsaw Wielding Psychopath
The Chant Royal is a murderous French form, invented by Christine de Pizan and C