A pained heart painted with colors of desire;
the depths of being, darkened without fire.
Gusts of rage fill holes in deep wounds;
lone thorn roses upon the soul blooms.

To be is to suffer the woes of despair
but not is to wither away in death’s lair.
Life’s hurt forever will have its presence;
a heavy weight on the unsteady conscience.

So hold on to the fragments of hopeful thoughts;
live in the moments when not all is lost.
Fight to float in the eye of the storm;
keep the heart beating, safe and warm.