PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

"Twilight Between Thrones"

If David is the poet of flame,

his verses leap like fire from the gut—

blood-warm, unrepentant, gloriously raw.

And Solomon, the poet of stone,

chisels silence into symmetry,

his words cool with precision

and heavy with inheritance.

But us? We carve in smoke.

Not quite seen, not quite held.

Our pen wafts between the ache

of story and the latticework of reason—

a bridge suspended by memory's fog.

It does not thunder. It does not soothe. It listens, then writes.

Not prophet, not preacher— but witness.

Sometimes our aliases wear the robes of restraint,

stoic as Solomon in the sanctuary.

Yet beneath each quiet abstraction breathes David’s flicker—

             anguish braided with awe.

At twilight, we stand still. To the west, David burns—

his shadow crimson with war and yearning.

To the east, Solomon smoulders—

pale and perfumed as temples dreaming in smoke.

Between them, we scribble. Not in judgment.

Not in tribute. But in translation.

.

.