Pearl Wine

August 3, 2013

A cup of pearl wine was made one day,

And passed to make the people today,

A cup of joy that spreads and spreads,

A cup that makes the blood and bread.

Yet with the wind, a drop dare fell,

It touched the ground and lost it's pale,

It rolled collecting dirt and grime,

It blackened, grew, thus lost in time.

This pearl white juice changed shade and hue.

It spreads like plagues of death and rue,

Men of the cup did trip and fall,

And spilled the wine upon the stall.

Thus the wine grew thick and dark,

And rose up high beyond the bark,

It mixed and kindled bad with worse,

And made a men of evil force.

Females lacking true love's touch,

Men avoiding life with rust-

-ing lusts of dust.

They feel they must,

Thus the pus began to form,

On men who drank that darkened wine,

And dined unjust.

Difficult it was and is,

To find the pearl white wine again,

Yet few men search this better taste,

That lies within the ground cup's base.

And yes, the cup is clean and pure,

Untouched by men's desire of hers,

Or hims, or theys, or its in fur.

This cup still lives for all those hurt,

Given to those who place Him first.

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