Avocado green walls,
gold circle wall paper trim
above curtains of flower fields. . . .
my window to the world.
A mirrored wall
to witness what I have become,
only known to my soul
that I have seen the pain in it.
A desperate smile on my face,
trying not embrace the man
I used to be in the past,
yet it’s difficult to elude in a green box.
Two lamps for light,
one the light of hope. . . .
the other, one of the future,
something I desire to see.
A blinking digital clock
in Morse code, so to speak. . . .
save me. . . . save me,
as I dream of what could be.
A nostalgic black phone
to call the distant dial tone past,
the present. . . . or just
to say hello on this gray day,
long enough to realize
I was not dying as I walked in the rain,
of a brand new day alive on Earth,
in a motel of souls under a rainy day.
Timothy Michael DiVito c2021
Poetry of Emotions 