Lord of Praises,
Speak.
My enemy like a jackel
culls the staggering
Like a hot wind curses
even the just
Like a uniform glories
in every stumble
Let his hatefulness
soak him
Let his unction
oil his bones
Wrap his wickness
as a visible robe
Mark him
in his own skin
May he never take it off
till death strips him
And then
I will sing, Lord
Leave my silent weeping
and go out in the morning
There you go, making me pull out my bible again! A very interesting interpretation of the Psalm. I really noticed the tension between the short (modern feeling) length of the line, and the organic (ancient feeling) word choices.
So, who are you cursing?