Tea for Who ?
He held the cup with both his hands,
“If I drop this, would it scream?”
“Would it feel a pain and break?”
“And would I grip my face to stop?”
“It too may break, or it may not…”
And so he said…
“We two are through !”
And placed his cup, between the two.
She grabbed the cup,
And with it struck,
Back and forth, back and forth,
Then with a final ungodly hurl,
Smashed and smashed,
The lofty temple of his inner world.
Some time after he viewed his scars,
For he was vain like some men are.
Writing a letter, to the cause of his pain…
“You” he ranted, “You The Page !”
“…And your last word insanity to dominate,”
“Lead me to believe;”
“This would never again…”
“You and your plans;”
“Are but pulp !” he raged
“When put to the test;”
“Of tears and rain.”
“You do not feel,
You do not rage !”
“Know your place,
know your shame !”
“We two are finished, I shall not…
No damn it, not again.”
Then sometime after so read the page…
The question of who serves who,
Neither could write nor say…
The price of daily returning to the same reminding ,
Youthful ink stains.
“Circe offering the cup to Odysseus”
John William Waterhouse