The Pitcher

I am a pitcher.   Maybe a carafe or decanter.  No, nothing so exotic as that, I am a jug.  A
plain brown jug.  

Yes, thats it, I’m a jug.  My point is, I am a vessel.  OK, I am sure I lost you on that one.  Answer the riddle with a query of your own.  

What does a vessel do, what is its purpose?  Yes!  Right indeed.  I have been constructed, somehow through genetic pre-disposition, to carry something.  

I hold within myself an enormous capacity
to love.  I am a bearer of love, if you will.  What does a jug long to do?  What is it’s sole
purpose?  

To pour out it’s contents to a willing receptacle.  To fill the cup, of someone
whom I love, would be a fitting analogy.  My problems are multiple and complex in their
very nature.  

What could possibly have a more saddening reality, than a jug full to the brim,  with no one seeking a draught from it?  How empty indeed, a brimming full jug with no one thirsty to receive it’s contents.  

I wander through life, full to the very
brim, seeking someone to partake of my bounty.  The cup I walk through life with hath not a single desire for the brimful content I yearn to pour upen her.  

She thirsts not, for the sweet fulfillment, I long to give her.  Her soul is parched, but she doesn’t thirst for me.  

I steadily plod through life, seeking someone to pour myself on, but alas, there are none wishing to drink from my well.    

There seems not to be a thirst longing to be
quenched from what I hold within.