The old man retired
to his tent
His sons would war
among themselves
for the crown
Yet, the rightful
inheritor to the
throne would be
decided by divine
appointment..
The dying king would
not concern himself
with such matters
tonight..
Tonight, he would
write, being under
the compulsion of
that still small
voice that had
used his mortal
frame to dictate
the timeless truths
that had won him
world fame
A fame that had
brought kings and
queens to sit at
his feet and absorb
a deceptively simple
wisdom..a wisdom
sharpened by the
axe of the Almighty
Himself
The hunched king
knew his days were
drawing to a close,
a departure he
described as'the
silver cord being
broken..'
But before the cord
was broken he knew
he must complete
the task of writing
the golden nuggets
of truth that would
resonate through the
ages
He had felt the impact
of many of those truths
in his own experience..
After all..was he not
a king? Was he not renown
for wisdom beyond all
mortals?
And yet, did he not play
the fool with idols of
wood and stone?
Yes, these things must
be recorded too lest
man trust in the
reasonings of man..
The light from a
flickering candle
illuminated the
interior of the tent,
and with a shaking
hand the king carefully
unrolled the fresh
parchment delivered
to him by his tent
guard
And as it had happened
through the penning of
a thousand proverbs
preceding this, the
shadow of divine thought
quickened his mind
The king paused..
What shall be the
conclusion of so illustrious
a life as his?
The summing up as it
were of all things..
When the ink had dried
must not these words
become a living
testament to the ages?
Must not the wise and
the simple be held
to account in the very
reading of such words?
Shall those who consider
such thoughts continue
to chase the wind?
The Almighty would tease
the soul into a more
worthy consideration when
the king begins writing:
'There is a time for
everything, and a season
for every pursose under
heaven..'
And all the words the
king wrote after that
would be left to the
souls of all future
generations to feed
upon..
Generations who would
question themselves..
Untold millions who
would inquire into
the very nature of
such wisdom
And from time to time
they will ask themselves
'Who was inspired to
write such words?'
And the elders among
them will not hesitate
to tell them that the
man they inquire about
was just a man..
'A man endowed by the
spirit of God's
wisdom
A man they call..
Solomon~'