At King David's Tomb

For a few shekels

the rabbi would light a candle

and offer a prayer of peace,

the exotic Hebrew phrases

bouncing softly off ancient stone walls

and pictures of stern men

shrouded in black robes and flowing beards.

.

I tossed my coins into the basket;

I, a gentile man, a military man

raised in the bosom of the Baptist church.

With eyes closed, I absorbed the words.

He could have been saying anything

for all my alien ears could fathom,

but everything sounds sacred in Jerusalem.

.

Tendrils of smoke carried my prayer

on its ascent to heaven.

I, indeed, felt at peace; felt a kinship

with David, his bones somewhere below,

dissolved into the dust. The Beloved of God,

King David; warrior, poet, sinner.

A Man After God’s Heart. A man like me.

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[Author's Note: This poem was first published in the chapbook, Beyond the Horizon: Journeys in Poetry and Prose, 2010]