Twilight’s Aftermath

By D. R. DiFrancesco

Awaken me so that I can feel the life-blood course through my veins

Pulsing, gushing, bringing warmth to every limb

In the black of night I begged to be revived

Slapped to consciousness by the maker’s almighty hand

I balk as I look down upon my lifeless vessel

Seemingly floating, weightless and translucent

Hearing every word, but unable to speak

Painless yet terrified of missed goodbyes

I try to scream, still nary a sound can be made

Cold and motionless I try to shake myself from this God forsaken slumber

They never said it would feel like this

Bright lights, almost blinding

I can see them, though my eyes are shut tight

How can this be

No one is calling me home, just bright lights and heat

Voices, huddled, cocktail party conversation

Its hard to swallow, parched and cracking

Hello…I’m here, can’t you see me…I can hear you

No response

Laughter and echoed unintelligible sounds drown me out

This can’t be happening


Oh God, its gone black

The lights are gone and its black as night

Voices implode into deafening silence

Eyelids flutter revealing fog distorted faces

Softer lights sting my eyes

Sounds come into focus, echo-less and clear

I can feel

I can speak

Fear subsides as the sweat is wiped from my brow

Twilight’s affects begin to wane

I am me…

I am alive

And I am well

Haiku – Love Part 2

 By D. R. DiFrancesco

The prick of a rose,

Drops of falling crimson flow,

Symbolizing love.


In dreams I see you,

Restlessly watching you sleep,

Praying you’re still mine.


Arms wrapped around me,

Tranquil warmth of your touch,

Invigorates me.

Haiku – Love Part 1

By D. R. DiFrancesco

Your tender touches,

Soft upon my weathered cheek,

Comforting my soul.


Looking glassy eyed,

Trust broken by love’s demise,

Drowning in self-pity.


Tears of sadness fall,

Drenching my heartbroken soul,

In the dark abyss.

The Joy of Nature

Natural Bridge, Virginia D.R.DiFrancesco

By: D. R. DiFrancesco

A thick canopy of green,

Funneling rain like aqueducts,

Cooling an all too parched earth.

The smell of pine,

Fragrant and sweet,

Cutting through the warm, moist air.

The gentle cushion of leaves and mulch,

Soft and inviting beneath travel weary feet,

Like heaven to the disheartened soul.

I had almost forgotten,

All this I had taken for granted in my youth,

A simple beauty wasted.

The air is hot and thick,

While rain soaks me to the skin,

My face blissfully pointed to the sky.

A triumphant crack of thunder,

Shatters the delicate tap dance of the rain on leaves,

Electrifying me with joy.

The glory of nature,

Oft overlooked and under-appreciated,

Still magnificent in all it’s splendor.

A Look In The Miror

Don’t judge me,

You are not God,

Don’t pretend to speak for God,

To know what he thinks, what he wants of me.

Don’t push your religion on me,

The Divine Word of God, written by man,

Interpreted by man,

In a futile attempt to change who I am.

Don’t condemn me,

You aren’t entitled to be my jury,

You are hypocrites and heathens,

Hiding behind your wall of self-righteousness.

Don’t loathe me,

Am I not your brother,

One created in the same image of your God,

Worthy of the love and respect given to those in your circle.

Don’t shun me,

Instead look at your reflection, then take my hand,

Walk with me and comfort my soul,

Are we not the same in the eyes of God?

If Dreams Were Reality

In dreams,

I am the hero,

I am the villian,

I am a great lover to millions.

In dreams,

I am a martyr,

I am a savior,

I am the fool with bad behavior.

In dreams,

I am a jester,

I am a riot,

I am a airplane test pilot,

In dreams,

You are my love,

You are the one I adore,

You are the one I would gladly die for.

In dreams,

Our life is perfect,

We live in bliss,

We want for nothing, so there is nothing we miss.

In dreams,

I can be all of these things,

The lover, the hero, the fool, the zero,

And still…

In dreams,

I never disappoint you.

A Block a Day Keeps the Prose Away

Creativity eludes me,

Gathered up in the day-to-day minutiae,

I am spent.

Staring stone faced at the screen,

Cursor blinking in frustration,

Awaiting the stroke of genius that never comes.

Millions of ideas,

Swirling in my head like a cyclone,

Yet none coherent enough to put on the page.

I know this happens from time to time,

Call it writer’s block or lack of focus,

Call it what you will this makes it no less painful.

Lying in bed,

Staring at the ceiling,

Fragments of prose flash through my mind.

Exhausted, I close my eyes,

Shutting them out ’til morning,

Hoping to remember a sliver of drowsy brilliance.

Excitedly I do…

But sadly the brilliance seems tarnished,

Hazy and gray,

Unsuitable…or unworthy for print.

Looks like another day of drivel,

Meaningless, irrelevant scribbles,

Fortunately there is always tomorrow.

To Almost Touch Heaven

By D. R. DiFrancesco

Staring into an ocean blue sky,


Cradled in the silvery wings of a bird,

So close God,

So close to heaven I can almost touch it.

This must be what it is like to die,

What it is like to ascend into the afterlife,

Weightlessly soaring,

Song of birds a symphony,

Leading my soul skyward,

Sun warm and inviting on my face,

Clouds of virginal white clothe me,

Comforting my weary essence.

At peace,

This must be what it is like,

What it is like to almost touch heaven,

On the wings of the silvery bird.


The Walk

Meandering as if in a dream I pondered..,

Cracks in sidewalks,

Separated like so many loves,

Askew from the tempestuousness of life,

Weeds poisoning their once sturdy frames,

Concrete strewn about like Mayan ruins,

Overgrown and forgotten, buried over time,

Crabgrass claiming their souls,

Once virginal, pristine, blinding in their starkness,

Now greyed and weathered, crumbling with age,

Discarded as trash,

The pieces left for someone else to pick up.

Awakened, with tears in my eyes I realized…,

We are not so unlike the lowly sidewalk.

We have left our elders trampled, aging and broken,

Put in the care of strangers,

Forgotten and buried in time.

Be it the mason or our maker,

This is not what they envisioned,

Abandonment and neglect of their masterpiece.

Weary Traveler

By D. R. DiFrancesco

Awaking bleary eyed I wipe the sleep from my bloodshot eyes,

Sensing my solitude, I reached for you but you are not there,

The faintest sliver of light passes between the hastily drawn curtains,

Revealing my bed, damp and crumpled and void of you.


Out of utter concern I rose, suddenly unfamiliar with my surroundings,

The feel of carpet under foot was in no way comforting,

Stubbing a toe on the nightstand I cried out in pain and for you!

But there was no reply to my labored pleading.


I’m suddenly alert from the throbbing and solemnity,

The weakest of smiles takes root on my unshaven face,

As unfamiliarity gives way to focus I slump incredulously at the beds edge,

Muttering under my breath, I must travel less and get more sleep.