See my life was equal to a chart;
over-pointed pencil, deeds compared to it.
Nears the paper, never banned to art -
To lead my hand it does not benefit.
An Act, whose dialog dispensed
and just one protagonist assessed.
Word and feat you fence in chance;
same old pattern - in which you're pressed.
This open book, people do not want to read,
neither persons rarely revere to heavy fare;
nor pays the day at night its deed:
while senses dance to savoir-faire.
