Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day?
No, For thou art more passionate and wild,
then any meek, underwhelming may.
Your love is that of a storm,
that rages and ravages the land,
and tears my heart to bleeding scraps.
The majesty and glory that you command,
leaves me emptied of words, filled with awe.
The tempest of inescapable wonder.
I stand before your might,
the sturdy oak, the immovable object,
as the chaos of your love, bends me to the breaking point.
Be you the blizzard, that chills to the bone,
Be you the fire, that burns unending,
Be you the monsoon, thats stings the heart.
I will weather every season,
and struggle the sorrow of simple summer,
to see your ferocity, your fury,
your delectable destruction,
your piercing passion,
and sublime self.
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