In every hour,
Do we come to the table
To barter love?
Is the journey Parsifal’s tale,
Seeking Self
In all the wrong places?
Do we head for the shelf
With first kiss?
Seeds of passion sculpting countenance
Velveteen Rabbits with luck,
Damaged beyond repair
Replete with love.
Is pain the cradle of compassion?
Is love the mother that rocks it?
What counsel for risking all
When bartering life with death?
What hope without it?
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