Oh the unease
        My heart is green: to be
A vessel filled with the envy of a sea without
       A land to conquer
My words are dry; as of a tongue itchy and ****
      My excessive indulgence of an activity of lonely
Before the groin pain I had  to fasten my *****
      I am the poem—of the words unsung: that of which
The lyrics come from my God above, and strong

But I’m so weak
      To please her of a valuable love
She’s young as of having heart in her large *******
I am old—to be a man carrying his pride
     She’s warm inside; as under a blanket of a cold night
A warmest embrace of a kiss so personal to face
     She was chased by her beauty; feeling unnatural to this world
An angel now disgraced
      Or a ghost haunting tears each time she appears

It’s clear to me now
     That a love sweet as ecstasy dreamt on my pillow
Is as it seems—only a dream!
               Therefore: is anything in my life as so real?