The cup v.2

I wanted to repost this poem I wrote two years ago, and bring a bit more insight into it.

When you read 'cup' think also of the word 'destiny'.

The Cup

The cup that tore shreds in the bottom of Your soul, was the same one that bore the medicine my soul needed most.

Free to throw that cup away, You chose to drink it, even though it was what You dreaded. But it was what i was dying for.

Looking into that cup You saw the evil that would course through Your veins and it was the only cup that would be able to revive myself again.

The cup Your Father held out was not a wine glass toast in honour of You, but it would be the toast that would save me.

Swirls of evil, colours of black fading to grey losing momentum tempting You to turn away.

You must have seen my face somewhere and loved me too much to drop the tears of that wine into the mud.