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Frank P Whyte

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  Breathless Is the Night
by Frank P Whyte
Friday, March 21, 2008
Not rated by the Author.

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Recent poems by Frank P Whyte
•  Missing Things and Gangsta` Jeans
•  Narcissist
•  My Wretched Muse
•  Betrayal
•  The Road to Kalispell
           >> View all 318

A wisp of ancient tale,
Racks the unconscious mind,
Staging fear with rapid heart,
And a sweat:
Cold on pale
With shallow breath.

Where lives the sadist,
Which springs chaos on the sphere
That mortal man calls home?
Surely hell is near,
Or so says my sallow heart,
Weakened by tragedy
Far and near.

Are there no heroes,
Or just hidden from sight
Are they,
So pervasive is the evil man,
Dressed to kill on Friday night,
Father to a nameless child.

I cannot breathe,
To the windows
As I go:
A noise,
Shots in the night,
The screams of lonely child.

Shall I fear?
Or hope?
Are these the days foretold
By ancient man?
Is there a hero in the night,
Man to quell the hate?
I think not,
As forsaken are we;
Desperate vagrants
Below a transient sky.

Comfort me,
In coffin’s satin robes,
Safe beneath the earth,
At rest.

For builds the universal storm,
Foretold on brittle page,
And there are no valorous hearts,
To quell the Master’s rage.

Look inside your soul,
Where veracity should last reside,
And you will see the lies,
As you succumb,
To the lonely morning tide.



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Reviewed by Lois Christensen 6/30/2008
The night might be breathless, but we have God whether day or in the night. He is always with us, we do no wish for death but he takes so many good and seems to leave many of the bad behind. I often question why this is?
Reviewed by Cryssa C 3/31/2008
Such evil we create... if only we could/would create as much good...
I think that more so even than the Master's rage, we are bringing this destruction upon ourselves and the Lord is allowing us to bear the consequences of our actions...
Reviewed by Gianetta Ellis 3/21/2008
A hero lies within each one of us...........the question is whether we call upon that part of self, or smother it with lamenting the world's woes as we perceive them.......
Reviewed by JASMIN HORST SEILER 3/21/2008
Wonderful imagery with your poetic words and rhymes,
" Comfort me,
in coffin's satin robes,
Safe beneath the earth,
At rest.
I would only dare to ask, for I first misread it as " At best."

Yes you wrapped up the world at Easter this year, nothings changed, just more nails in his feet and hands! Beautiful truth! Jasmin Horst
Reviewed by Charlie 3/21/2008
Night swallows us whole, doesn't he? But I like to think that He, who calms the seas, can still calm me. And He that touched the sky to make it light, can touch my heart of stone and make of me
a creature of light.

I like the fragmented imagery in this poem. -- I can really get my mind around it, as that's how my mind thinks.

Take care, and God Bless. --Charlie

Books by
Frank P Whyte

Hearts of Gold

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Remedies of Choice

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  1. Woodsmoke and Possibility....
  2. larger voice
  3. I Wish I Could Tell You...
  4. Springtime Breeze
  5. Potting Plants
  6. Transmorpho
  7. Controlled Manner
  8. I Wish I Knew
  9. Day's End
  10. Not Of Gold
  11. In Loving Memory
  12. Running On Empty
  13. Everything Shuts Down
  14. Time Started
  15. “Cant Dog”, and the Burning of Words own O
  16. . . . and There I was
  17. I'm Thankful For
  18. The Mask
  19. Bumble Bee, Bumble Bee
  20. My Poems

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