There is a calling wrapped in a sweet package

that is often built to flutter the heart

An art one would dream to exhibit

For most, a museum of emotions to explore and learn from

Some would dare say it is a home,

a language you are born with


But it will always be a calling

no matter how it looks


Even if it turns into a dark, endless escape room

where smiles vanish into thin cold air

and nowhere to cling but to passive-aggressiveness

It exhausts the patience of a clueless fool

The souvenir is anger and pain

for a heart no longer fluttered


He who answers ought to die to himself

It is never selfish

Freeing rather than binding

It pursues the other's joy,

and keeps no account of resentments

Trails the road with forbearance,

self-giving and awaits no reward 


This is a calling wrapped in a sweet package,

If I can't face such a monster

should I even dare to answer?


This is a calling to bear another's baggage, 

If I can't love in such ways,

should I even love at all?