Grapes are sweet, in their way,
Together in community all as one,
None so different from each other.
Solid, well put together without blemish,
Perfection thought to have been reached.
Yet for there to be sweet wine,
Bread broken to feed the others,
Perfection must be crushed beyond any
Recognition, willingly walking into the vat
Where all self will be squeezed
Out to transform sweet into sweeter,
Meshed together, pain bringing change
From the core to the flesh.
Bread must be
broken to be eaten,
Laid upon the table of sacrifice,
Emptied time and again but then
Refilled; the beauty of being broken.
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