by Crazy Retasu
A young wise man once told me to choose
A cup from which to have a drink.
Nervous, though I had nothing to loose,
I bit my lip and tried to think.
He claimed the cup would have meaning.
I couldn't see how; this cup wasn't real!
Just a wavery image in my mind gleaming—
If I told what I saw, what would it reveal?
"A white china tea cup," I finally sighed,
"Shaped like a flower, and rimmed in pink.
Chipped at the handle, cracked on one side."
The man's eyes pierced me; I couldn't blink.
"Don't be hesitant," he ordered, "to face the truth.
This cup you selected was only a vision.
It mirrors your soul, still in its youth,
For this broken cup represents your religion."