Ralph Toledano: The Apocrypha of Limbo

he will whet his sword

In the muted wood,
I walked alone
till screaming angels
moved like a knife
across my eyes.

Lord, in the huts
and in the mud your angels
screamed to the heavens
and the sheltered wood
was quiet no longer.

In the night I waited
torn in my sleep
seeing the sky unfolded,
feeling the earth unhinged:
and then I knew, my Lord,
and then I knew.

Modern Hebrew Poetry: Y. Amichai

אִם אֶשְׁכָּחֵךְ, יְרוּשָׁלַיִם
יִשָּׁכַח דָּמִי
אֶגַּע בְּמִצְחֵךְ, אֶשְׁכַּח אֶת שֶׁלִּי
יִתְחַלֵּף קוֹלִי
בַּפַּעַם הַשְּׁנִיָּה וְהָאַחֲרוֹנָה
לְקוֹל נוֹרָא םִן הַקּוֹלוֹת
אוֹ לְאֵלֶם

If I forget thee, Jerusalem,
Let my blood be forgotten.
I shall touch your forehead,
Forget my own,
My voice change
For the second and last time
To the most terrible of voices —
Or silence

And there was no more Sea.

And there was no more Sea.

VOICES from above and from beneath,
  Voices of creation near and far,
Voices out of life and out of death,
    Out of measureless space,
  Sun, moon, star,
    In oneness of contentment offering praise.

Heaven and earth and sea jubilant,
  Jubilant all things that dwell therein ;
Filled to fullest overflow they chant,
    Still roll onward, swell,
  Still begin
    Never flagging praise interminable.

Thou who must fall silent in a while,
  Chant thy sweetest, gladdest, best, at once ;
Sun thyself to-day, keep peace and smile ;
    By love upward send
  Orisons,
    Accounting love thy lot and love thine end.

Christina Rossetti, before 1893.