You came to my gate with a trader’s intent,

Wrapped in the shining that was only a foil.

A polished surface, thin and crinkled,

Hiding a heart that sought only to spoil.

You wanted the crown, the mortgage, the Amen,

King of the castle, you didn’t even build;

Demanding the respect again and again,

Until the free will I carried was stilled.

But this is the week of the humble entry,

And I’ve learned the difference in the shadows of the palms.

The world waited for a Cavalry, a Sentry,

For silver-clad soldiers and war-beating psalms.

They wanted a King on a stallion of gold,

Someone to mirror their pride and their scars—

But the True One arrived on a beast, I am told,

With no need for mirrors, or status, or gold.

You mistook my “Yes” for a land to be conquered,

Like the Company men on a rich Indian shore.

You signed your name to the peace that I offered,

Then called it sanctification while you asked for more.

You preached a gospel of submit and obey,

Using the Father to mask your own ego—

But the King on the donkey shows a different way:

He doesn’t need subjects to make His grace grow.

The Free Pass is over. The treaty is torn.

The 6:30 runner is reclaiming the street.

A sovereign nation is finally reborn,

With the dust of your proxy kicked off of her feet.

For aluminum shrivels when the Truth gets too bright,

And you failed to die for your church from the start.

I’m trading the foil for the Morning Light,

And the King on the donkey for my own healed heart.