He sits alone, holding the glass by the base.
Slowly he swirls it, the viscous fluid clinging to the sides.
The liquid falls back to from whence it came.
The lines resembling tears-
Mocking his pain, sharing his joy.

Is it pain or pleasure that he feels?
Does it really matter?
For the cup before him-
The Cup of Life- It is both.
It is pain and it is pleasure.
And the prescious drink within
Brings more joy to the pleasure
And more sorrow to the pain.

He sits alone with his cup, contemplating.
Watching the tears slowly fall.
He stares into the bottom of the cup, looking for an answer,
An answer he knows is far away.
Yet he continues to seek,
He continues to celebrate,
He continues to morun,
He continues to live,
He continues to drink from the cup.

-fin
-GHR

Penned by my hand on the 13th of Daedalan, in the year 370 AF.