It is of the night
I seek a haven from hell
all I find are brimstone paths
that lead me to who I used to be
A sinner, never a saint, a man
who tries to paint the world good
through apathetic rose colored glasses
crawling on a bed of thorns bleeding out.
Regrets are many as I walk
towards a newly discovered destiny
one of no pillow to lay my head upon
no roof to keep out the thunderstorm.
Yet the elements do not deter me
from forging ahead into the unknown
familiarity will grow stronger with time
my once broken heart engulfed me daily,
leaving me to bleed across the land,
a water color painting in a Summer rain.
Timothy Michael DiVito c2021