.....and God made Man in his own image.
That seems to mean God made himself and what's the point of that?
Better make a mirror and be done.
So He took a rib from His own reflection and made woman.
What was left was man.
But let's be honest here....it's not the rib He used
for that was removed so He could reach in His Hand
and pull out His own heart through the breach.
That is the pain of Everyman,
We are Hollow Men, pursuing hearts.
And Woman how she suffers for that heart.
A heart without a home.
The heart that creates life,
itself delivered like a baby premature from a perfect womb,
seeks shelter in an empty man.
We search for each other, a quest that should not be so hard for are we not both here?
And yet where do we meet?
We collide like particles, ever faster and disintegrate into even smaller pieces.
We want to be whole yet we shatter in our union.
Woman, taking everything inside, a pool of water waiting to be drunk, a chalice,
Living only to be lifted to God's lips.
And Man, flailing his sword, searching desperately for something
to fill his wounded breast that burns with a cruel fire.
He drinks with his sword, a hopeless task.
The blade is plunged into the chalice,
the sizzling fire of it tempered to the hilt, yet never quenching thirst.
Man
This belt of women's heads
Hangs from your waist
A sack of chalices
Slung clanking 'cross your back
Ever thirsty still you throw
Away the healing water
To hold the chalice high,
A trophy, when nothing has been won.
Foolish Man
Put down thy sword and rest
Make of thy hands a cup
And dip them in this chalice.
Drink.