The disease called shy

You have my voice that sings My eye’s that love to see My heart beating when it believes My hand writing poetry of what should be My steps walking boldly thinking of thee My minds consumption of vast amounts of time My work that tries providing Any attention that I can find A victim of love Happily and sadly am I I am like Samson Believing every lie Being like Romeo I’d surely die What a substance is love As reachable as the sky With fears and rejection That might cause my demise My childish suffering This disease called shy Yet monotheistic my soul Itself cries Day after day this feeling Will not die Only one half of what God says am I Could you go with us, My God and I Could you put your hand under my thigh Let me promise before I die The climb of the mountian That reaches your sky