The Final Brace of the Poetries I Meant As One To Post, But By This Could Not

It is generally thought of to be one of the myriad, Guiding, governing, binding principles and precepts of all  Mature civilized countries that what horrors that they unleashed in Vilest, bloodiest, convulsive conflictual combative martial  Confrontation, on their fellow man, Even if he be in an neighboring nation, That, upon the battle's and the war's termination, That the same be, if not quite so cruelly,  Inflicted on them, the would-be conquerors who are now the abject conquered, And as a due punishment, by a nation suffered. And this is believed to be and upheld and respected as a central rule of war, And no civilized nation opposes, prohibits, or otherwise dissents this  Overarching, ruling tenet of conflict nor usually ever,  In eventual retaliation of it marshals his soldiery to  Invade, conquer, subdue and generally make revengeful, punitive war upon the victors of previous wars: His punishers and conquerors, albeit it has been done once or twice. ANd history has, for the most part, and for generations, Among only the most civilized, mature, thinking, discerning lands,  And among their peoples, generally abided by and bore out the lesson. 7. With myriad droplets of a most uric, xanthic, lemony oil, I  Yesterday lovingly caressed and bathed but sparingly the xyloid portions,  Appendages and the entire body thereof, Of one of my quartet overall of my guitars: ANd yet a lone example of my brace of acoustical guitars. It is, I found, not quite so menial nor difficult a task as I might,  In execrable versifications erstwhile and elsewhere, have once regarded it.  It is not so ignoble an employment,  Nor so laborious and rigorous and insulting a devoir. Yet, still, I brooked manifold injuries and insults to my fine, upright, noble, decent, honest, intelligent person yestereve, and having been spurned once,  And overcharged thrice and prevaricated to at least by the now-seemingly lowly, corrupt and miserly  Proprietor of a guitaristic and musicianly market  Relatively nigh my hill-nestled home, this last  Insult was the most unpardonable of them all. (Is there a sufficiency of characters remaining to allow me room and time to Compose one last thought? Are a little less than three hundred quite enough? The poems I wrote yestereve, they were the ones that I, due to silly, Draconian, stupid character requirements and restrictions, had to divide into Three incomprehensible, superfluous portions, portions of poems, And each placed only here, naught else.)