"All that mankind has done, thought, gained or been: it is lying as in magic preservation in the pages of books."
-Thomas Carlyle

by Daniel Morgan

Between Zorah and Eshtaol we camped,
My father and his wife with child.
And I was full of strength and zest
Before she held me to her breast,
Or so they sing and so they say.

I killed a beast along the way to make
My wedding bed in foreign lands.
As they did unto me so I
Have done to them with hip and thigh,
Oh, so they sing and so they say.

For truly I'm awash in blood, I know,
And I dare not deny my God,
Whom these may think they've slain.
He's not dead. He's coming again
To deal the sentence upon my head.

In riddles I defied the cursèd foes
And caught each fox's fiery tail.
I taunted with their gates on back
While tricking lovers in my sack,
Yea, to this day they sing and say.

I've read the book, have read it to its end.
But I did not know my God had gone,
His arm had left so small a man,
Even from the tribe of Dan,
For what they said and at me sang.

A year has nearly past and left with me
These blinding pictures of my mind.
She still visits me in violence
Each time I touch my eyes and wince,
Yes, they ever sing and say.

In truth, I wish that she were here with them
To make of me their merry sport,
And have her licit fill of jeers.
How fitting that I face His wrath with her.
Go, sing your songs and have your say.

And now I fear He has arrived at last.
Once more His breath I feel inside
And clutch columns to stay my feet.
He won through my complete defeat
Occasion to say and glory to sing.

My only wish was that somehow
Like a prophet's lost forecast,
I death I would have killed the strife
And brought these men my blood to life.
God, let it be and have your say.