What can’t be learned in School is how to mend
the ragged-edges and their carnage, Peace
that has no Precedent is worth War’s Cease.
Why else would we be born if not amend
one Stripe of Matter buoyant, a faucet
Which dispenses what it compenses: Ruth,
for manifestness, a benevolence,
kinder Measure for a Poem that must
desist from its Same Self Stimulation
effervesced across Expansive Canvas,
a Hot Air Balloon arisen at last
forwardly frosted Ad Infinitum
who am I that I have no Sentience
and Yet I rhyme and yet I omniscient?
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