I raise the chalice to my lips
and drink deeply of the pride
that overflows the capacity of the vessel.
It pours forth past my heart
and settles deep within my soul.
No more, I cry,
for the pride is gone.
The cup is no longer ornate
with dreams and desires.
I retire to my chamber
where I lock myself away
to inspect the tarnished goblet.
I gaze with introspect
at the mars and blemishes encased within.
I then become compelled
by a sense of challenge
to decorate my cup again.
To redesign and realign
the crevice that once held
the nectar that makes life sweet.
The chalice is empty.
I raise it to the light
and continue to solder the cracks
of the thin metal,
leaving scars that cannot be smoothed.
I conclude my repairs
by embossing the evidence
of my work with jewels
and polish my goblet
until it becomes effulgent.
My chalice
is again worthy
of the wines of life
and waits...
rechristening. |
