Left For Dead (Sonnet)

Flayed like road kill quivering

Unseen and left for dead

On black, cold asphalt shivering

A crack upside the head

From gaping wounds bleeding

A gasp for one last breath

The feel of life receding

Assured most certain death

The black it grows darker still

No longer knowing this place

Sounds they fade and silence fills

The whole of dying minds space

In an instant the sun shines bright

As gentle hands draw me to the light

.

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

 

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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 ~~

Simple Phrase

The simple phrase, “I love you.”,

Not to be worn on the bottom of a shoe.

When said to another it must be true,

Or angers wrath will most surely ensue.

~

Far too often it’s said most light,

The words flow free without a fight.

All in attempt to bed at night,

With no qualms of wrong or right.

~

What happened to the time it was hard to say,

Waiting, obsessing for many a day.

Rehearsing the moment in so many ways,

Knees getting weak, wobble and sway.

~

“I love you.” has power over human heart,

Think before speaking this phase you start.

If said without meaning the two will part,

The heart will break and soul depart.

~

Handle with care these mystical words,

If not heartfelt they’re best deferred.

Emotions strained, feelings stirred,

“I love you.” must be mutually incurred.

~

~~ 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 ~~

Painful As It Is

Painful as it is

We face our mortality

In all that we do.

Just waking up to morning,

Walking a city sidewalk,

On a holiday,

Swimming on a summers day;

The fullness of life

By virtue of our living

Must eventually end.

Do not waste this time

Wallowing in past regrets;

Leave that to the fool.

Instead cherish each moment

For its utter perfection.

.

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

Birth Of Day (Aubade)

Awake my love to witness birth of day,

Greeted by java’s scent and morning dove’s song.

Hurry, hurry my love for I cannot stay,

Approaching my time to depart; it won’t be long.

.

These lilies fresh I cut for you,

Gently placed in bedside vase.

Moist with cool early morning dew;

Unwrap yourself from linen and lace.

.

Awake my love to bodies tender touch,

Do not forsake this dawns advance.

For this heart is filled with love so much,

Pierce not my heart with slumbers lance.

.

Does the sun not warm thy angelic face,

Arise dearest love and take my hand.

A gentle touch to your cheek I trace;

Place your feet upon this cherished land.

.

Awake my love to witness birth of day.

.

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

~

According to Wikipedia, an aubade is a morning love song (as opposed to a serenade, which is in the evening), or a song or poem about lovers separating at dawn.[1] It has also been defined as “a song or instrumental composition concerning, accompanying, or evoking daybreak”.[2]

In the strictest sense of the term, an aubade is a song from a door or window to a sleeping woman.[3] Aubades are generally conflated with what are strictly called albas, which are exemplified by a dialogue between parting lovers, a refrain with the word alba, and a watchman warning the lovers of the approaching dawn.[3]

Aubades were in the repertory of troubadours in Europe in the Middle Ages. An early English example is in Book III of Chaucer‘s Troilus and Criseyde. The love poetry of the 16th century dealt mostly with unsatisfied love, so the aubade was not a major genre in Elizabethan lyric.[original research?][citation needed]

Dearest Me

Dearest me…

What have you been afraid of all these years?

Just look at all the damage you’ve done!

Your fear of failure caused us to fail.

Your fear of rejection filled us with loneliness.

Your fear of disappointment stymied enjoyment.

Your fear of intimacy sustained our solitude.

Your fear of hurt built our hardened facade.

Your fear of living has stunted our life.

Your fear of dying has fueled an unending search.

Your fear, your fear, our fear…

What more do I want from me?

Have we not shed enough blood,

Given our pound of flesh,

Enough for a lifetime?

Wake up and smell the roses

We’ve been standing in this garden all our life

But we’ve been too afraid to see it.

.

~~ Dominic R. DiFrancesco ~~

 I originally wrote this as my submission for the WDBWP Monday poetry prompt, but then realized it wasn’t the correct form.  I still liked the poem so I thought I would post it anyway.