The Master said: “A cup not a cup: A cup indeed! A cup indeed!”
-Confucius, Analects VI.24

The best thing I could ever be
Is a cup.
                I wish to be filled
With all that destiny will pour;
I wish to hold it all, and yet
Be nothing more than the vessel,
Be able to pour it all out,
Be capable of emptiness,
Yet still the same exact vessel.

Let me fill up with the ideas
And dreams of contemporaries,
Finding methods to mold their shapes,
To hold them each without spilling;
Let them fulfill triumphs with me,
And lift victory to their lips
With me as humble implement, 
One of many who may have helped.

Let me bear the mixtures of fate,
The windfalls and catastrophes,
The tragedies and elations,
Moments of otiose ennui,
Humdrum days into humdrum weeks;
The little words that shouldn't mean
More than laughter and love of life,
A cup with the integrity 
To keep all that held together
Until the time to pour it out.

A cup is perfectly empty:
It can be filled, it can be drained.
It can hold and can toss away.
Fill it, empty it, wash it out;
It's still a cup that's good for use.
When there's nothing at all inside,
Its potential is at its peak.
What a brilliant skill of being,
Bearing it all without a split
Sundering its function and form.

Whether tippling, whether toppling,
Full of nectar or of poison,
A good cup will hold either.
Allow me a way to contain
The good, the bad, and the water,
Our everyday necessity.

I want to be the cup and not
The contents; I want to accept
That and embrace that in my way
As fluid occupies volume.
I want to be the cup, and when
The time is right I can let go
Of anything and everything.
If I am spilled I can refill;
In the end it's not a big deal.
No cup would stress over these things.