An empty white plain was heating up
with a consuming black power
that was growing on the inside.
Speechless it got knocked down,
only to receive the magical incantation,
of the cloud of purity.
The storm in the cup of coffee rages,
but not enough to please the greater Great
in this particular situation.
Waves crash upon these frail walls
of the white porcelain cup,
its only purpose to contain
the black, spoiled, stirred evil.
A huge fight within my single hand,
Good against evil,
and a taste with a severe case
of multiple personality disorder.
As the powers seem to settle
in their own mini cosmos,
or primordial soup,
the time has come to drink
new life into a wasted system.
The cup is emptied,
the evil swallowed,
and reincarnation never
looked so simple.
Pure and clean is readily awaiting,
the next load of dripping sludge.
Maybe I should just get a black cup.
It would solve a lot of problems.