Today I woke in the bed of a king
At first I felt and then saw
roses red and humming
Singing their satiation,
by the table,
hurt and longing
It digs my flesh
it feels and it starts moving
To the tune it created,
abstract but grooving
Grieving
Next to my flesh it is my mind ringing
Bells, wedding bells, alarms,
bells of warning
A chill fills, and ice starts running
up the stem, down the stem
like winter without a gardener—
No warm caress,
to keep from wilting
Roses red and humming start burning
by the bedside
so I claw at flesh
but then blinded by my eyes stinging
The shaking of cages
move to shake ivory gates
I stand to leave but something pulls
and I am sinking
Into sheets to a stage
and they command me to start speaking
My mouth is bound
it is sealed by a kiss
words of loving
Of living
of staying
of leaving
I realize I slept in the bed of a king
Not mine, another kingdom’s king
Will I still become a home,
or become a kingdom’s thing?
Roses red and humming start painting
an image of warrior's brow,
A warrior's truth
And a warrior's obeying
Sometimes I ponder
where it is you have wandered,
And if you are in a haven's embrace
And albeit I can't face what it is
we are battling—
That I'd rather run in hiding
than admit to my covenant's disgrace,
There isn't any way to say that—
Uriah, I slept in the bed of a king
And the roses he left by the table
are still weeping of a loss—
of a reaping
of a love
of a severing
of a promise from above
But by tomorrow, Uriah
It shall be my bed
And the kiss that has bounded me
will be my freeing,
The stage shall be in my hand
And the roses by the table
won't be weeping for a loss
but for a win a taste of mourning
For Bathsheba,
The woman the king saw bathing
