Closing the self to true life

See again the glass thou shattered, on walls of man's nature and way. Into the night he once be-flattered. The man you left to wrought by day. And in the night he slept a while. But tempted by his knowing creep, and unto you the thoughts beguile, lest you not to make them sleep. Though it's true the sea moves first, before the moon can pull. But after that it was your thirst. Undenied, the hunger full. Pieces of the glass may turn, bring the bright beam of the sun. For your presence once He yern, now He see you, now He run. There was once the spark of day, a God within the flesh that writhed. With the powers of the day. The love he ever prized. You to claim a dagger raise, to the holy chest. Carved your manhood not your name, upon your bloody breast. Found the man you left to die, finished him a blade. Murder of a self is lie. And know the gods forbade. You to ever take to heart, what you called was true. He loved and lived the very art, of lives you never knew. Forget the goblet got to ground, it long sleeps in piece. Let your life to run abound. And may this tragic murder cease.