Chalice
The soul
A chalice that holds all we are
Our strengths, our weaknesses
The essence of our being.
In youth, our soul is as clay
It is easily molded into images
Our parents impression this clay with who they are
As they try to filter out their weaknesses in the transfer.
As we age, the clay begins to harden and dry
Changing the image of our soul becomes more difficult.
Eventually the clay cures
Then to change the image of who we are
We must sand away the edges and chip into the clay
To create something different, hopefully for the better.
Many of us, as time passes
Sand away the roughest of the edges and begin polishing who we are
We create a shining statue that is us.
Sometimes, however, in the course of life
There are people who have this statue shattered
The brittle clay breaks apart and there remains only pieces of the image that was.
Sometimes when the statue shatters, the chalice is broken as well
At which time we are no more.
Other times, the chalice remains
Held together by a stronger power.
Such is my soul
A chalice empty except for the floating images of what was
Floating without semblance or order
My strength is a shining jewel, known as the Code of Ages
Its strength was enough to hold together the chalice
But not the statue within.
My soul is not as the clay of youth
But now as a dry tinder box
It awaits a spark to ignite it
Whether it be the Flame of Love
Or the Inferno of Hatred
I know that it will eventually burn again.
Coras
Away from the Pain