The Game Is On

The game is on

And we are the pawns.

We make not a single move,

Our kings are locked in their ivory towers

Each trying to outlast the other.

We revel in the spoils, though surely short lived.

Soon we will be crushed,

The trap door beneath us flung open

And we will be flushed into their wells.

The queens they laugh, laugh with a hideous roar,

Their coffers bulging with our blood and sweat.

Opponents from afar, march onward

Caring not the least for us, their enemies innocent.

Yet we do nothing, we do not revolt,

We do not demand better.

Instead these heathens dangle their carrots

And we mindlessly eat from their tainted hands,

Smiling and gulping ravenously.

We consume as though it will never end.

Over and over our mistakes we repeat.

When will we ever learn that…

Big oil and OPEC,

They do not love us.


~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~


I Grow Weary Of This Eternal Fight (Sonnet)

I grow weary of this eternal fight,

Shackled to the rack of banker and coin.

Neither watch out for societies rights,

Instead every turn–a kick to the groin.

Warned of their evil for centuries past,

We heeded their warning ’til memories fade.

Enslave us they must, right on down to the last,

By our sweat and blood until death we have paid.

It stops not here for the cycle goes on,

Our children continue to pay on our debts.

We and our progeny are nothing but pawns,

On whose lives without conscience they’ve all placed their bets.

The greed of our system we claim best in the world,

Quite possibly it would be if the bankers we had hurled.


~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~