Poem — John Davidson

Parsifal

We all shoot the swan in youthful
trespass ignorant of our misdeed.
Not all of us, though, get off
so lightly and get a second chance

to be embraced as saviour fool.
And the second chance, if it comes
at all, is first a hesitant welcome
home after years of wandering

through the doubts and blood
of blandishments and bad Fridays.
There is still the defining kiss
to encounter and break free from,

and the flying spear to grasp
before it can strike its numbing blow.
That would again demand
an abdication from the power

to rule and radiate healing light.
And who else would then complete
the holy circle’s circumference
and care for Kundry?

John Davidson

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