he has a servant’s heart.
But he will never put it on a platter
of silver, nor porcelain, nor glass
Not even plastic.
Not kneel, presenting his gift to you,
eyes averted in unworthiness.
sits at his throne,
tells you of his servant’s heart.
How selfless it is to respond
to “thank you” with “my pleasure”
instead of “you’re welcome”
as if his own heart has ever known thankfulness.
The boy with a servant’s heart
speaks of sacrificing for country
his words translate to glory between the lines
of killing bad guys.
The definition of martyr or cost
never slither from his lips
as he doesn’t understand how ransoms work
nor jumping on a grenade is his reflex.
with the servant’s heart,
will sit at the head of the table
and demand your heart on a gold platter.
He will pick it apart.
The left ventricle, right atrium,
plays the chordae tendineae
He will pick it ‘til
the strings rip,
until the muscle’s refuse to contract,
making it unusable,
throwing what is left away.
He will call for a new one
that looks the same.
But it will never matter
because it is new.
The boy with the servant’s heart
will repeat his habits.
will never abdicate his throne
as he looks in the mirror
with self-righteous, beady eyes
and sees a king.
One day, he will find what a king is
to a God.