I’m dead on the sands of time
scorched beyond compare,
my heart withers upon the wind.
Heated is my desolate soul dying,
as fast as the water in the oasis,
with its hope dead, without true faith.
So parched on this golden path,
yet, hope lives somehow
the thought of your romantic oasis.
You have mesmerized my spirit
in the desert of life,
until my heart regains hope of love.
Timothy Michael DiVito c2015