The beguile of fruitless denial,
Of sorts deepens the fire of reach,
A torch,
Beneath the low, grave street,
Another reef of lively' beat desire,
A creek a tire,
A liar and please become a person,
That loves like on one's hurting,
And give all you got,
Till whatever you got is enough,
To be certain the grief is gone,
A life worth living on