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