Caligula though tyrant he be, is not so unlike my chaotic mind,

Burned to the ground like Nero’s Rome, a cure oh so difficult to find.

Cries to the almighty gods, heaven sent go unanswered,

Eating at my senses and sanity like a cancer.

Why is it that the clarity of thought so often goes awry

When focus eludes me no matter how I try.

Is this a curse–a symptom of a troubled body and soul,

I know not, still it leaves me feeling less than whole.

Most fortunate to me is that it never long lasts,

A matter of hours or days is all it takes to pass.

Yet this is of no less a concern and satisfies me little,

Stunting my spirit like knife to wood wittle.

Alone I am not of this I am certain,

As this diatribe ends and I bring down the curtain.

Praying that soon this too will vanish,

Returning to me clarity from whence it was banished.

.

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~