Sometimes I feel like blessed.
Sometimes I feel wretched.
Sometimes I am king of those thunderous castles.
Yet sometimes I am heracles of the 12 endeavours.
It comes and goes to me. In my sweet nightly retreat.
Sometimes it keeps me true, sometimes it makes me accrue.
In all these remorse, there is something of a blue rose. Her smile makes me want to elope her words keeps me atrophe.
All these ranges are my defeat. Did I still make you thee.
Its all that I feel, in a poem should seal?