The Safari

The golden dust, the scent of coming rain, The rising sun on the vast and open plain. A canvas painted in ochre, green, and gold, A story ancient, and so bravely told. The engine hums, a low and patient sound, As the jeep goes searching for hallowed ground. A silhouette of giraffes, tall and serene, A living image on a wild and endless scene The mighty lions, a sun-soaked tawny pride, Hidden in the grasses where their instincts guide. A leopard's shadow, elusive and so rare, Sliding through the thicket with a quiet, watchful stare. The trumpeting echo of the elephant's call, As families wander, moving free and tall. A wildebeest stampede, a blur of motion swift, A thundering promise, a primal, moving gift. And when the twilight paints the sky anew, With fiery hues of crimson and deep blue, The campfire crackles, a low and steady glow, With jackals barking in the dark, and stars that grow. The stillness settles, vast, deep and wide, The wildness stirring, with nowhere left to hi...
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The Sack of Rome

Beneath a bruised and sulfur-colored sky,

The bronze gates clang, a final, iron sigh.

The papal flag hangs limp, a pious plea,

Above the crowd's dark, tide-like misery.

Within the city, fountains weep and play,

As rumors like a fever spread all day.

The painted saints upon the ceilings gaze

At earthly fear, through gilded, hazy maze.

The pious chant, the merchant counts his sum,

And wonders if the judgment day has come.

Beyond the walls, the camps are stark and wide,

Where German flags and Spanish pikes divide.

The landsknechts, starved, with eyes of bitter steel,

For months of pay their starving bellies feel.

A reeking mist of vengeful hunger hangs,

A promise of the plunder's savage pangs.

A Protestant, whose rage has found a cause,

To break the gilded city’s ancient laws.

His captain, dead, and now no law remains,

To stem the tide of anger and of pains.

The Roman night descends, a velvet drape,

Across the city, fearing its own shape.

The ancient marble shines, a ghastly white,

Reflecting back the campfires in the night.

The Colosseum, hollow, dark, and vast,

Remembers other conquerors of the past.

The Tiber's flow, a silent, knowing stream,

Reflects a broken, fading papal dream.

The city waits, its history immense,

To meet its fate with baroque reverence


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