Two Crowns in a Kingdom of Dust

Beloved  a top white stallion he rides
in bold gilded armor -- a benediction
of blazing regal power in soft spring sun.

His un-furrowed brow beneath
bejeweled crown - unburdened
with the work of worry
for all these hands of adulation --
in a world of swords: he rules as king.

A thick cloud passes over jaundiced sun,
a riot of shadows crawl across the crowd
then into his man-heart as Christ the Lord,
Ruler of the Kingdom of God weeps
below his sharp crown of thorns, "Father
forgive them, they know not what they do."

The parade winds through his masses
but his knightly royal heart has stopped.
The only beat now is of his steed's hooves
upon cracked cobblestones,

His vision fades -- He is alone.

Amongst his people with only a prayer
and no redemption - his moment passes.
But Christ is Lord forever.
What fleeting thing is glory, when
the Lord of Lords bleeds and weeps?