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david
david
wicked desolate and tired though blessed by god
lost in the night shivering blind eyes open wide
recalls the swamp bemired retrace the steps trod
bundled and wrapt quivering at the deep inside
once a youth in battle and then a man in triumph
bestowing glories on a king for the love of his son
slaughter lions as if cattle his heart set in defiance
always aware of death’s sting touching everyone
lustful wastrel lost in greed picking of virgin fruit
to kiss the sweetest breath no one dares to shun
after rape becomes deed sit back to pluck the lute
and now a people mourn wail and gnash at teeth
history’s pages torn and a sword left in its sheath