Even I was a being molded for nobility. Even I was concave, seeking the weight of that which came from heaven; primed for the blight of that which was holy.
It was just that I discovered a better source of pain.
Seeking the image of a creature bereft, I recognized instead the bounty of “man” – that they are given first what they snare between their teeth; second what they hold in their open palms. And I understood that I had been feasting for decades.
Is it I alone who can give my hunger a proper name? If not, dare I share the feast? For none could bemoan my false burdens like I do. None could know my nauseous raptures.
But – “Ah, tis a balm. Tis a current. Tis a voice.” The assuaged have woven their nets in which to catch visions; they do not use their hands at all. But I have no use for such contraptions, despite my need for them.
On a great mountain top, I make great declarations, “There are none righteous. There are none who understand.