The tactile sensation of convulsing pain,
Keeps the hand striving to enact a gain.
For, even a benighted fool can deem,
The nugatory prattle that's made of whim.
It is but prudent to unravel deeper vagary,
Before, even, trusting blather, so openly.
A mask, that smiles, isn't always equivalent,
To the intent that's cloaked, encrypted, and set.
Hush the screams and denials that result,
From harrowing incidents that revolt.
Choose, instead, to remain phlegmatic;
Before giving full credence to any edict.
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