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 ~~