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"two crowns"
"Two Crowns"
David, dust on his lips, a sling in hand,
armour refused, he sang to keep his nerve.
He danced before the ark, a blaze unplanned,
heart like a drum that would not keep reserve.
Solomon set the chalk line, measured true,
cedar and gold laid out in even light.
His wisdom stark, near-sterile, cutting through,
a cool regard that made the crooked right.
David knew caves and lamplight, salt and blame,
a lifted psalm when spears were at his back;
his pulse ran hot with love and grief and flame,
he bargained with his God, and did not lack.
Solomon held the blade above the child,
truth rose like breath as mothers held their cries;
he judged without a tremor, spare and mild,
a steady eye that sifted out disguise.
David’s crown sat askew, sweat in his hair,
the oil, the dust, the shout of open fields;
he leapt for favour, faltered in despair,
then rose again—his sorrow sang and healed.
Solomon’s throne was ivory and gold,
steps like a hush, the room in ordered tone;
his proverbs walked in lines, exact and cold,
he kept the peace by weight and plumb and stone.
Two kings: one marked the world with flame and scar,
one etched it clean with rule and balanced scale;
between their names our lesser measures are—
song’s rough embrace, and law’s unblinking veil.
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