A Man will ask himself:
Is the glass taken of half
Or given of it?
We hear this tale
Unworn and aged
(Like a fine wine
Save a rich cheese
Always a decadence
An adornment so sweet.
Fruits that our mother
Blesses us with)
and look into the crystal
Search for grace
We think comes from
Wonders of the light.
But man’s feeble mind
Is so beguiled
(Hoodwinked into
Vizard
By the lures
Of such a beautiful thing
As crystal.)
And rapt with greed.
So much brawn
Is put to
Pondering the
Substance
Of the vessel
(such thought
That manifests itself
In a disease
More blood ridden
Than a
Plague)
in materialism
(the silent
Murderer
That infects the
Mind of a
worldly soul)
and has no cure
To emerge from
A field of
Medical travesty.
When all has
Passed
And man answers
for his sins,
One will in the end
Discover
the question
That never works it’s way
To the lips
(If not even
Figments of thought
In words)
What have you to say
About the fill
Of a glass
When it has
Shattered
Upon the floor?