By D. R. DiFrancesco
Your tender touches,
Soft upon my weathered cheek,
Comforting my soul.
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Looking glassy eyed,
Trust broken by love’s demise,
Drowning in self-pity.
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Tears of sadness fall,
Drenching my heartbroken soul,
In the dark abyss.
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.
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?
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.
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.
By D. R. DiFrancesco
Staring into an ocean blue sky,
Gliding,
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.
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.
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.
By D. R. DiFrancesco
The suns glare blinding in it sheer radiance,
Ricocheting off the snow white froth as it lays claim to another piece of shore,
Drawn back to it’s primordial beginnings,
Only to reemerge in it’s own time in some distant land.
The song of the gulls,
Circling and floating in anticipation of their next meal,
A beautiful natural thing to behold,
Lives boiled down to simplicity.
The snap of the blue claw crab,
Rouses me from my trance,
Unafraid, claws raised in defense of his little piece of turf,
Only to surrender it to return to the sea.
Could it be that there are lessons to be learned,
Wisdom in nature so often ignored,
Giving prominence to our petty and corrupt selves,
Hollowed out by our material love.
As high tide comes rushing in,
New shore from distant lands makes this beach it’s home,
I am beckoned to take leave,
Walking away with a gift greater than I dared ask for.
By D. R. DiFrancesco
Do not look me in the eyes my love,
For my intentions are seldom pure as a dove.
In constant labor to prove my worth are I,
Lest I fall from your grace wither and die.
With a gentle stoke of my cheek you reassure me,
That I am all you ever hoped that I could be.
Still I fret that my offering is not enough,
Insecurity has aged me wrinkled rough.
Yet you look upon me as if youthful and spry,
With a devil-may-care twinkle in your eyes.
And that come hither smile you so oft display,
Leaves me breathless as always in night or day.
Unworthy am I to be held in esteem,
Yet with each day I awake to find this isn’t a dream.
Should this not be what love is about,
I ponder and pray that it’s never in doubt.
Maybe, my love, in all the world you’re unique,
To have fallen for this fool with all others you could seek.
If this somehow by irony be true,
No one else could I have cherished any more than you.
Dom DiFrancesco 