Unconditional Love Poem by Mark Heathcote

Every being on earth wants unconditional love
but their egos are like ebony, tough-as old-larch
Their resin is volatile, a turpentine thereof.
Nought-like a soft-dripping unyielding willowy arch.

But there-are-those the pulp of which has love in their hearts.
Can-paper-Mache some the cracks—be charitable!
show some Christian love; they are like the old, ancient-guards
souls that, did, pass this way before quite unpalatable.

Suffering themselves softened, ensuring a balance
-of compassion and 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, moulded, our-sharpest-edges rubbed-smooth
by charitable acts, meanness turns-to-buttermilk
and the milk of human kindness moves-on and imbues.