Emotion, shall we agree, is a standard issue
Made of the most feathery, breakable tissue,
(And man, dusty from eternity, knows the misuse)
But still kneads out an identity: an absurd masseuse.
But as it floats and shatters humbly away,
(And man, being moldable, bends to its sway)
Made, are we, to feel and so then turn gray;
Emotion is the blood pouring from life's wide splay.
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