I Beg

I beg–do not look too deeply into my eyes,

What you see may both be surprising and terrifying.

Blackness…deep…dark…all consuming,

May swallow you up like the undertow.

You swim, kick, scream and still you drown,

Falling into the depths.

Seeing the sun above and nothingness below,

Praying to your God to be saved

As your tears dilute into the salty sea, unrecognizable.

Surely you will be disappointed,

My weakness splayed like modern art on my soul.

This is not what you committed too,

Vows could not have prepared you for this hell,

The hell that is my secret,

One held close to the heart,

For as long as I can remember.


~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~


Vision So Nearsighted

Vision so nearsighted,

Seeing only rock and sand,

Scorched earth under cloudless sky,

Beauty shrouded by its bleak exterior.

O’ but the wonder peered upon by birds,

A canvas painted by a masters hand.

Browns, blues, greens, intricate designs,

Such depth, the flowing lines,

Seemingly random from terra firma,

Showing purpose of design from above.

O’ the beauty missed with our limited perspective,

Entire lives spent seeing two steps ahead,

Ignorant of the lovely picture before us.


~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~


Lonely Hotel Room

Lonely hotel room,

Faded carpet,

Trust in clean sheets,.

Looking out from high above,

Cracked blacktop parking-lot,

Peeling dumpster,

Weary travelers rental cars,

I wonder why I am here.

Long-distance calls from home

Offer little respite from my angst,

“I love you’s”, across the airwaves,

Still alone with my glowing companion,

Unable to sleep,

Strange bed holds no warmth.

All this, another spin on the wheel,

All this for sustenance,

I wonder at what cost.

Strain on spouse,

Toll on children,

One parent household,

Each trip will be the last.

Until the next time,

Addicted to the golden ring.


~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

Soul Searching

Soul searching…deep and bloody,

A soul pure in its ignorance, stunted in cynicism

Bleeds to dull the pain.

This pain is not physical–it is spiritual;

Like thirst, it is teased by the eternal mirage.

Crawling through the sand, it sifts through my fingers

As sand through an hourglass is bound to do,

Parched, I search on, confused.

History held the answer…their answer for their time,

Passed on, an amalgam of what the past held true.

Each thought they were right, that they knew,

Yet they knew no more than their predecessors,

Just as I know no more than mine.

So I hunt, swallowing pieces of the puzzle;

Never sure of the truth,

Always one piece short.


~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~