The Liar

Each day that I lie, in my dreamlike state

to myself and insignificant others about

my will not to live, someone innocent dies.

Each time I deny that death is no shame,

or the tenure of life is not equipped to cope

with the loss of a child, somebody else dies.

Every year I allow to pass everyone by,

each swallow I salute - each morbid sunrise

I hold on to my love, although I be despised

Something ineffable in me dies.