David (The Freedom Ave. Series)

Many sing your songs unknowingly
A harp is for summer, a psalm for glory
But summers are distant in their memories

They don't recall when last did the sun shine
But the sun did shine, making a lot
of seemingly endless summers

Tomorrow not guaranteed
But the end is certain
Certainly for you, wrinkled soul

Sitting somewhere wild
Clinging on to your blunt black pen
For the verse is too heavy on you

And so you write a poem
        David
        Though King among kings

A poem for a season
        Your splendour is far off
        Only the shadow of your fall remain

A poem for reason

         Couldn't beg for love

         Nor count losses when lovers lost

A poem for a poem

         Your shadow remains to the day

         At the house of Uriah the Hittite

For on the flip of time

Your ills are a crown, golden

A blissful your story in the end

A tale worth telling 

To the silent pages of time

The holy grail of your crown