Comparisons, not to be satisfied....

Shall I compare, my scars, Sheathing my heart, To a turbid day? Nor an art drawn in sheaves with swords? Or even a watertight stopping the flow of fall? Shall I compare, To a wayward wind, Wearisome, dipping in wax of pains; Or a weal, wetting the fires of grief? Shall I compare, To an unprovoked epic? Nor an unreadable murk of fate. Or shall I portray, Like unfathomable warbles of incomplete mellows. Obscure the ails are, Like watercress on land ; Or Maybe a shoes of a wayfarer Shal I compare, To a Moss in a waterbed, Or a towpath in the mid of a desert. Shall I compare, To paltry shovels of palladium to stop the pacemaker. Or maybe a flaw left by a pachyderm's tooth; Nor shadows of whiskers like watersheds in a whey ; Or a waif wagtail's tears on waffles. Shall I, To lachrymal jades, being clawed by pens of aghast..... Couldn't staunch, the wet marks and my comparisons Even though they are not satisfying ; They are too depth, as my feelings goes on and on....