From Ramparts I Gaze Upon Grassy Plain

From ramparts I gaze upon grassy plain,

Imagination in overdrive with visions of the past.

These walls for protection are all that remains,

A wonder of man that for centuries has last.


O’ but the sights they surely must have seen,

Siege and catapult and bone-crushing blows.

Walls bathed in red corrupting lush green,

So many years have passed, it no longer shows.


Though beautiful now, what horrors must have been,

As conquerors pined for the treasures of this place.

Frightened citizens scurried as each attack did begin,

Praying to God for the safety of His grace.


As blood of man flowed in the name of power and God,

How many precious souls were sacrificed for naught.

Singing of Psalms while carrying thy staff and thy rod,

Marching into battle on the indulgences Rome taught.


Promises of Heaven under trumpets thundering call,

Warriors stood their sacred ground.

As each watched their brother with screams of pain fall,

Until not a man made a solitary sound.


Much sadness did spread losing husbands and fathers

For life ever after that no man can give.

Not one little bit did their deception bother

Sacrificing lives to horrors no man should live.


This warring way of life the Crusades did foster,

Succumbing to the desires of religions holy men.

All for the lands of others their coffers did prosper,

Uncaring towards those they’re charged to defend.


These ruins though amazing of time long gone by,

Raise up a sorrow for those who went before.

Reminding us of the men who sacrificed and died,

Hoping these atrocities will rear their heads no more.


~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

What Have We Become

What have we become?

Both sides are fatally flawed.

We–the laughingstocks!

Politics are the cancer

Eating our nation alive.

Are we to perish,

Fading into history

Like Rome’s empire;

Remembered for its grandeur

Through its crumbling ruins?

Perhaps it’s too late,

Our experiment–a dream

May evaporate

Becoming just a footnote

In the annals of mankind.


~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~


Flames of Discontent

Flames of discontent,

Smoldering under a blanket of Nero’s kindling.

Are we to become Rome sinking under our own gluttonous weight?

Are we to burn under the tutelage of lesser emperors?

Are we perhaps on the road to our own Ides of March?

Such things have crossed my mind almost bringing me to tears.

We did not always live under this oppression, under this division

It is not just the emperor we despise, but the assassins draw our ire as well,

Begging the citizenry to act out.

We act out in separation through a system proving flawed, proving broken,

Causing us to wilt to more of the same.

Could it be that we are destined to be consumed by the inferno,

A later day Rome cast into the annals of history,

Reduced to ash sparked by our own inaction?

Perhaps it is best that we start anew,

As the youth of our “Grand Experiment” is exhibiting its fractures.


~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~