The Fiddler of Rome

This poem is very hypnotic and evokes strange feelings of wonder. It is a poem about
hope that asks us who or what the real Fiddler of Rome is.


He sits upon the green hills that surround Rome,
   he sees its horror and the pain that takes place behind its
 gates of wire,
    and he plays his violin for the living and dead of that famed

His songs can be heard in the hearts of those who believe,
   his old fiddle can be seen in the form of memories,
   his songs transcend beyond the gates of wire,
   the melody of his voice atop that small green field can be seen
 in the form of hope,
 hope for better days that will not come to most.

He can be seen by those who lie in Rome,
   with those who have hope,
   when they lie in their beds,
   fearing for their life,
   while those who have lost hope snicker,
   for they see no fiddler,
 for they have lost what the Fiddler of Rome embodies.

To some his songs bring sanctification of the soul,
   to some it is a death march for those who have lost hope
 and have already passed into the comforting rhythm of his waltz
 before the fall.

He plays for those lost to the pits of Rome,
   amidst the stares of those who perservere,
   who consider him a god in a world of lost religion,
   and he plays for those who disbelieve,
 for those who can only laugh and say —

‘How can he sit and watch while we die?’

To those who believe it is not that he watches,
   but gives comfort to those who would be dead
 if it were not for him.

And when the gates of Rome are shattered,
   when that great city is set afire,
   he will still be seen in the distance,
   amidst the smoke and ashes,
   playing a song of hope,
   playing while Rome burns,
   playing that same song that evoked such painful memories,
   the same memories that brought comfort to all the huddled
 masses that now leave their barracks of wood
   and step upon the ground they worshiped as Heaven
 when they lived beyond the gates of Hell.

And when they step upon that same green pasture of Rome,
   they all will hear the playing of the Fiddler of Rome
 and look at his green hill that tortured them while they
 were in Rome,
   they will step upon the earth once again and climb the
 Fiddler’s hill,
 but shall see him no more.

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