About This Service
In the middle of my journey, I walk.I walk into a hallway; I walk into the dark.The walls mock me; they oppress me, in here there is no talk.I walk but I see nothing; death has left its mark.As I walk, I see no light,I’ve lost all hope, why should I care?I see no point, I’ve lost my might.These experiences—God forbid anyone share.But I continue to walk; the halls are cold.Here all life is in danger; in fact, it’s non-existent.There are no birds, no bugs; there is no sign of the world.However, I continue to walk; I walk because I’m persistent.In the dark I stumble; in the dark I fall.Why do I walk? What’s in it for me?As my eyes can finally see, I cry; no, I ball.I see a cup—it’s up ahead—no one is holding it . . . it’s free.The cup is liberty; the cup is a blessing.I get closer—the cup is hope; no, it’s happiness.I reach the cup—the cup is a song I want to sing.I can touch the cup—the cup is love; the cup indeed I bless.Water flows onto the cup, it’s an eternal pouring.The cup is pure gold, it shines as it fills.As it overflows, the excess falls . . . soaring . . .It falls to the floor; I watch as the water spills.I cannot help but to admire this cup,It is diamond-studded . . . a treasure for the King.This is more than a cup . . . I decide to look up,I rejoice; who knows the wealth this could bring?I am a rich man!The cup is fragile, it has been through much.I decide to keep the cup; if anyone can fix it, I can!But I am unable to remove it, the cup is for the hallway; it’s too much.The water that has fallen now fills the room.In the likeness of the tiles, the water does flow.The flow is a never-ending cycle; it makes the hallway bloom.I see an opening above the cup, the light shines; I show:
I show myself to the cup, it hangs suspended in air.The cup is beautiful; the cup and the hallway are eternally connected.I read the cup; the inscription says “Le Cadeau”—that’s what stays here.The beauty of the cup lures the eyes of man, but the hallway keeps it protected.I see the relationship so clearly now:The cup gives life to the hallway.The hallway nurtures the cup; I could now only bow.You see, the presence of the cup is overwhelming; but I have to stand tall.I feel myself amongst these walls and quickly, I realize:I am the hallway; I am the hallway in its darkness and in its strife.The halls are my hands, a thought I would not trivialize.I nurture this cup . . . I could love this cup . . . the cup is my life!Without me, the cup is a treasure.Without the cup, I am lost . . . I am nothing.The embrace of the cup is warm; a sort of godly pleasure.As I embrace the cup, there is no death; there is no fussing.I am connected to this cup.But if I am the hallway, then who is this cup? The thought excites me!I see my cup overflowing with the blessings as I look up.
I know who the cup is . . . I want to love the cup . . . the cup is she.Because of the cup, I am now reformed:I was dark and cold, now I’m warm and beaming.I want the cup to love me; without it, my walls are deformed.The cup is mine—I am for the cup—my tiles are cheering.In the darkness of my halls, the cup brought hope.Now I can accomplish much more,The cup gives my halls strength; we are connected like rope.She is my cup and I wish to love her forevermore . . .