The Cup

Passing the cup
from one to the next,
each convulsing hand
touches my blood to his lips.

On down the line,
to each starving soul,
the cup travels
as its supply grows thin.

From my place at the altar
I see through colored glass
the congregation of men
outside wanting in.
I look to my hands
where tubes suck down my love;
hooked up to the machine of mankind.

I’ve been here for years
and I know it’s time.

The light begins to fade
and I feel myself going…
and as I enter the deepest of sleep,
the last thing on my mind
is getting
at
you
the only way I can…
the only way
you
let me
in…

The Cup

Crockpot

Joined November 2007

  • Artist
    Notes
  • Artwork Comments 5

Artist's Description

The trials and tribulations of being an empath…

©1995

Artwork Comments

  • pinkyjain
  • pinkyjain
  • LocoCow
  • Crockpot
  • Damian
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