She doesn’t want a martyr.
She doesn’t want to grow up to grieve your losses.
To feel complicit in the big dreams you sent to the slaughter.
She doesn’t truly desire your compromise.
To wield the knife that stabs through your vision of a better life.
She doesn’t want to sink with you in the quicksand of regret.
But rise with you, king and queen, on the ground of heart-led power and purpose.
She owes you nothing for your bloodless sacrifice.
But she’ll give you everything for your emboldened pursuit.
She won’t validate your excuses.
Accept your powerlessness.
Or share in your self-proclaimed defeat.
Rather she’ll suck all life out of the hapless victim.
And dance on its lifeless corpse.
Not out of spite or malice. Not out of an insatiable bloodlust.
But out of mercy.
In service to the king you’ll soon become.
For she is your queen. Not the widow of your hallowed soul.
She is your sovereign co-creator, not the savior of your wounded ego.
She is your partner.
Your wife.
Your teacher.
The pulse of life itself.
The siren call that awakens the king from his ancient slumber.
And the death knell to the tyrant’s false rule.
Rise together. For it’s truly the only way.
