Every being on earth wants unconditional love
But their egos are like ebony, tough as old larch,
Their resin is a volatile, turpentine; thereof-
Unyielding… nought like a soft dripping, willowy arch.
But there are those the pulp of which, has love in their hearts.
Can paper mache over the cracks—be charitable!
Show some Christian love; they are like the old, ancient guards
Souls, which did pass on through before—unpalatable.
Suffering, themselves, softened, ensuring a balance-
Of compassion & benevolence; that’s absolute.
But for the most part folks, there is this counterbalance
Some middle ground. Most, aren’t made of teak, jute.
These cloths are fibrous, but that’s how we soften to silk
Our own, metal is, planished, our sharpest edges rubbed smooth
By charitable acts, meanness turns to buttermilk
& the milk of human kindness moves on & imbues.
© 2016 Mark Andrew Heathcote
The BeZine 