This is not necessary. This is neither Crucial nor salvation. It is no hymn To harmonize the choirs of seraphim, Nor any generation's bold bellwether Leading the flock, no iridescent feather Dropped from the Muse's wing. It does not limn, Or speak in tongues, or voice the mute, or dim Outmoded theories with its fireworks. Rather
This is flawed and mortal, and its stains Bear the evidence of taking pains. It did not have to happen, won't illumine The smirch of history, the future's omen. Necessity is merely what sustains — It's what we do not need that makes us human.