You shall solemnly warn them, and show them the ways of the king who shall reign over them. 1 Sam. 8:9
An ornament of precious metals weighing on the crown of it’s bearer:
A filament that enslaves the powerful from age to age.
Stones kilned into blocks stacked upon one another
until they keep out the foreign and keep in the privileged.
A tool of the will smithed into a finger;
Inflating the might of any who direct its inevitable rage.
When the earth has rotated the sun so many times as to crush bones into dirt
The elements may still bear the image in which they were fashioned—
The image of immortality—
and many will marvel at their wonder.
A brass bell when blown harnesses the wind and turns it to singing!
Weaved fibers pigmented with the dye of flowers turns light into perception!
A human figure flailing through breath unbreathed turns time into story!
But, for you, says the LORD:
The song will have faded back to the wind.
Perception will have grown dark in the waning light.
Time will become the counting of breaths breathed until freedom.
The crown may help you forget decay.
The wall may let you forget war.
The weapon may allow you to forget your finitude.
But even Elisha cannot hold back the inevitable end—
the widow’s son
the Shunammite’s son
the man who touched Elisha’s bones—
those spared eventually return to the dirt.
As will your king.