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"margins of kings"
"Margins of Kings"
David:
My heart is a ram in the thorns—
it bleeds but will not retreat.
I loved with a blade,
I mourned with a harp,
I sinned and sang and God still held me.
Solomon:
I speak not of thorns but of roots.
A kingdom cannot stand on ache.
Measure the stone before the build,
weigh the word before you speak.
The wise man walks where the wild man danced.
Kesner: (in the margin)
Rulers break bread differently.
David tears it while it’s warm.
Solomon scores it before baking.
Each calls this truth.
David:
I chased lions and love alike—
neither kept still for long.
My robe flew behind me as I ran toward the ark.
Forgive the sweat on holy ground.
I knew no other way.
Solomon:
Stillness is also praise.
What you leapt toward,
I built slowly. Let the ark rest
on cedar before rushing to shout.
Kesner: (scribbled softly)
David enters like thunder.
Solomon waits for echo.
Faith bends both ways.
David:
I wept in caves.
I carved songs into stone walls
so silence would not forget me.
My voice was hunted but it made a kingdom listen.
Solomon:
Voices build nothing without form.
A song must fit its temple.
I do not weep, but I remember.
Kesner: (small, nearly faded)
Memory wears two cloaks—
one for grief, one for grammar.
David:
My son, I gave you a name born from my ruin.
Take the crown, but do not forget the sound
of sheep calling in the valley where I failed.
Solomon:
I will build high enough
that even your valleys
cast shadows on my floor.
But I will not forget.
Kesner: (last line, pressed into the fold)
We inherit flame or ash.
Some hold it. Some sift it.
Some write between.
.
.
