In this sonnet, titled “From Jerusalem’s Perspective of the Triumphal Entry, I Felt His Coming Reign”, the city of Jerusalem narrates its experience as Jesus enters on a colt. Its gates open to a crowd laying palms and cloaks, their cries of “Hosanna, Son of David” resounding where prophets once spoke. A place marked by grief and prayer, Jerusalem feels its stones stir with hope as this humble king, unlike warlords of old, brings a peace it cannot fully define. Trembling at their praise, the city senses a shift in its ancient heart, standing as witness to his gentle authority, his reign destined to echo through its storied clay—its stones and history—forever.

My gates flung wide, their palms adorned my street,
A colt he rode, through dust my stones awoke,
Their voices rang where prophets’ words once beat,
A king they cried, in humble garb he spoke.
“Hosanna, Son of David,” stirred my air,
A throng alive where once my silence reigned,
My walls, long scarred by grief and fervent prayer,
Now held a hope my past had scarce sustained.
No heralded warlord, no throne of might,
Yet peace he bore, a tide I couldn’t name,
I trembled as their praise outshone my night,
A shift within my ancient heart aflame.
I stood as witness to his gentle sway,
A reign to echo through my storied clay.