This Cup

This cup you hold

  Has filled and drained

    Filled and drained




The vapors of intention

  Have escaped

And are left wandering the skies

   Not knowing where is home is


I am left with a cup

  That doesn’t know which way is up

    But is most certainly comfortable with the downward pull of gravity


I am left with a heart

  That relentlessly beats this song

    Of progress and recession

  That drips over this pile of hope

    Wrapping its way through and around the chords of uncertainty


For a hard-hearted farmer’s granddaughter

  There is never enough space

    To weave a song of dreams


The cup keeps leaking

  Keeps taking in a vision

    And letting it drain away


The cup keeps asking

  Keeps begging to be quenched

    Without knowing how to drink


That cup

  That holds so much but believes so little


That cup

  That’s been passed down through generations

    Of sun-weathered hands

    Of battle wounds that never healed

    Of surviving an unforgiving world


That cup that knows of tomorrow’s uncertainty


Stop the leaks

Weave a song of dreams

    That will hold the sneaking specters of doubt away

  As it lies steady

    Collecting the glow 

      Of restoration

        And redemption

    Collecting the power of allowing

    Collecting the answers of the unknown


So that it cannot hold dreams any longer

Until they spill out and over and through

Into a world that needs more dreams

  More allowing

    More resting

       More collecting

          More giving