My Second Message

I won't say again that love will save us,
while the kitchen knife confession sits you on its knee.
How could you know that monsters can seem like saviors
in a toy store display that lets you buy one and get one free?

I can't promise that those keys are not rusty,
while your egg timer children ask for another drink.
How could you know that the stings of bees are party hat favors--
the sum total checkout crime that causes you to think?

And you'll need the grit of my second message
to help you through the melancholy one that came first.
I'd gladly be on the team that upholds the spirit of your life,
if my own spirit had not long ago died of thirst.

Sometimes the harshest words give birth in the softest places,
while you're forced to push through the supermarket line.
How could you know that a human soul doesn't just happen by accident,
but is the newborn child of Love's great design?

How could you know that a human soul doesn't just happen by accident,
but is the newborn child of Love's great design?

And you'll need the grit of my second message
to help you through the melancholy one that came first.
I'd gladly be on the team that upholds the spirit of your life,
if my own spirit had not long ago died of thirst.

{To my love...whoever it turns out to be}

{Picture courtesy of Mike Oberg}