So what if men try harder than a blade
To read the news affecting to give rigor?
Who thinks a few more fact-floods make us bigger
People? We simply are what we have made

Manifest. Now he who lay in the glade
With his love far from battle, can be bought
Or else bound by a bandage round the rot
Of wounded thought. And then the fusillade.

Some god forgot to tell the clock to stop
Before sunrise. Somebody read the news
And shot himself. Somebody called a cop
Before remembering there was no use

Play-acting. For we are what we have made
And we were good at fashioning a blade. 

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