Brother fights brother
Will expressed through violence
So death marches on
All for ideology
Refusing to live on peace
~
~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~
Tag Archives: war
Pain You Cannot See
Pain you cannot see,
Can be heard–
In the wavering of words,
Can be seen–
In the worried expression.
Reliving the past in waking dreams;
Speaking to the invisible that seem so real;
Returning to the present awash with anger.
Ravages of war do not always leave visible wounds–
For the visible may be treated with scalpel and stitch.
That which is unseen may be the most devastating of all,
Lasting a lifetime,
Tormenting, demonizing, incapacitating,
Shattering the spirit.
We see this on the streets,
We see this in the shelters,
We see it on the cardboard signs
And in the tin cans held out by dirty hands,
No place is immune.
These are the ones we turn away,
Diverting our eyes,
Ignoring them as a nuisance,
Wishing they would just go away.
Does not their sacrifice grant them better?
They gave when called,
Offering life and limb;
Permitting us the pursuit of our happiness.
Yet what do we offer in return?
Nothing but contempt.
~
~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~
Their Playground
Their playground, our world
The bullies intimidate
Taking what they want
Caught in their dangerous game
We are expendable pawns
It is Deja Vu
Cold War resuscitated
There are no winners
Just two very big egos
Gambling our existence
.
~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~
Dear Son (Haiku)
Dear son–a man now
I must learn to let you go
~~ You have seen so much
~
~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~
More Cold Than The Season (Sonnet)
More cold than the season could possibly express,
Hangs in the air and the hearts of man.
We speak not of atrocities, we’d rather repress
Waged against others by their brother’s hand.
.
Considering ourselves a civilized sort,
Still in prejudice and intolerance we stand.
Giving no venue for them to retort
In what with affection we call the promised land.
.
This promise so cruel–seems held for the few
While the rest us are left to our own devices
The whip of the wealthy cracks to tame the shrews
While living high amongst their golden vices
.
Inequalities based on race, creed and color exist no matter how we wish them to fade,
Persisting throughout the years, not because we are right, but instead because we are afraid.
.
~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~
Is Being “Father” Enough
Is being “Father” enough?
Looking into the face of the son, I’m not sure who I see;
Some of me, some of his mother,
But these are just physical traits.
He has lived a life far different from my own,
Seen and done things that I have never seen or done
Lived the horrors of war,
Witnessed the worst of mankind,
Traveled through the world with a bullseye on his back.
How could this not demand change,
A change that I will never understand?
Me…I’ve sat in my easy chair;
Warm, dry, safe,
Worrying for his safety,
Praying for him to come home.
I read the ticker at the bottom of the screen
Announcing without emotion those that would not return;
Thankful for the call that never came.
Is being “Father” enough?
I cannot alter what was,
Cannot erase what he has seen,
Cannot live his life.
We seem to have less in common these days,
Though I am certain that this is more my problem than his.
Is being “Father” enough?
I suppose that it will have to be.
.
~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~
So Much Blood
So much blood on my hands,
Dried, old, not my own, but mine none-the-less.
Brothers and sisters–I have died with you on the battlefield,
My heart cries with each beat for your lose,
For the sacrifices made over our centuries.
Each of your gravestones is etched with my name,
I am your pallbearer, your namesake, your progeny.
I place the flowers on your graves,
Not for your sake alone, but for mine,
How else could I repay you for your kindness,
Thanks alone seem so hollow.
Brothers and sisters–I love you,
You are in my every thought and prayer,
Take comfort that you will never be forgotten.
.
~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~
Fields of Gettysburg
O’ obelisk, granite, grey, etched in sorrow,
Not so aged standing firm amongst the tall grasses;
Ne’er swaying though battered by wind and storm and history of war.
Your fields and gently rolling hills show no remnants of ball and shot,
Rivers of blood flowing across riverless plain.
The living perished here as surely as the dead those days,
Pitting brother against brother, for many, the reason elusive,
For honor, family, country, their fellow man, it matters not
As corpses lay bloodied, broken,less than whole.
Fortifications of man were little match for hell’s fury,
Breaking limbs and spirit with each fiery volley.
Friends, who shared hot coffee and conversation over warming fire…gone,
Gazing into the heavens through milky eyes,
Awash in dirt and blood, they are in pain no more.
Thousands upon thousands scattered haphazard,
Turning once green fields scarred and crimson.
Claims that those that lived and died still walk with us persist,
Destined to relive, in clips repeating, horrors of life in death.
In the quiet, amongst the trees rustle,
Smell of smoke and sulfur, sound of shot, fatal yells may still be heard.
Yet with daylights glow the grasses wave in silent salute,
Alone, but ne’er lonesome,
Watched o’er by the towering granite sentry,
Etched with the names and dreams
…Of the fallen.
.
~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~
The Puzzle
Picture perfect in pieces
Scattered by the millions,
Waiting for the collective to assemble,
But none of them seem to fit.
We look for answers in war.
Such a primitive mind,
So narrow the thought.
Our conflicts prove coercive;
Devastation,
Death,
Disease,
Degrade us,
Subhuman.
We look for creative ways to destroy,
Enamoured by fatality
To no ones surprise
The puzzle pieces bend and break,
The puzzle pieces get lost,
Our human puzzle incomplete,
Gets thrown on the heap.
Still–throughout our eternity
We have gotten no wiser
And have never learned to play nice.
.
~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~
Out of Fear
Worshiped out of fear,
Afraid of divine retribution.
One which allowed murderers,
One which allowed adulterers,
With an apology,
To be King.
You toyed with creation,
Becoming angry as a child
Throwing tantrums
When deprived of your will.
Does death and destruction,
To all but the chosen
Sound reasonable and sane?
With Lucifer as a playmate perhaps.
“Here take my servant,
Do what you will with him,
But do not touch.”
Inflicted with relentless torment,
Sores, anxiety, persecution,
Fear of death,
The game is permitted to continue,
All with your blessing,
To see if he can be broken.
Is this how mercy is shown,
Torturing those that love you?
Finding sport in war and death
Both are waged eternally,
Some with your blessing
Some without,
Either way, surely with a smile.
Sending those in your image to their end
As pawns for your amusement,
This seems to be your sadistic way.
As a final act of brutality,
You offered your son up to despots,
Torturing and degrading him until death,
All to uphold your way of life
And save the monsters which you created.
Would a kind and merciful parent do this to his child,
Instilling them with fear,
Instead of promoting goodness and love?
This question must be answered!
Faith alone does not absolve you of responsibility
For the adulterated state of our being.
.
~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~
Dom DiFrancesco 