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A Question of State

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Once your place is assigned,
if you find yourself not of the sky
please, answer this question for me,
so as to end my curiosity.
The question, I conjered myself
is unable to be placed upon the shelf.
So may I propose it now,
and stop dottering about:
the hell that you now compose,
has a tempurature, hot or cold.
is it cold as the hearts
of the souls you stand beside?
or is it hot as the rage, that resides
inside each of you, at this time?





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