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Frank P Whyte, click here
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Imagine each man as a seed
Who would ultimately spawn a galaxy
Peeling off layers
In the days of his life
Examining his dreams
With utter delight
Not knowing what to expect
At the end of his days
As he falls to his knees
And begins to pray
And the answer to his prayers
Is a vision in the night
Of his own private nebula
Full of brilliant colors
Shining so brightly
And as he sees it
He knows
Deep inside
That this is his moment;
The reason that he’s alive
And the clouds of pinks
And yellows and blues
Explode in front of him
In brilliant hues
As he forms his planets
And dresses them with moons
He breathes fire into his sun
A sphere of deep maroon
And the planets take their places
According to his whim
As the beauty and the majesty
Make his head begin to spin
For the gift that he’s been given
Is beyond his wildest dreams
For never in his imagination
Did he think he’d build a galaxy
But then again
Imagine each man a seed
Who would ultimately spawn a galaxy
And look deeply into your dreams
And consider, if you would, the possibilities.
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| Reviewed by Cryssa C |
3/23/2009 |
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This is a delicious poem...rendering beautiful images to dream about. I can imagine it just this way. Born to create...
Cryssa :~) |
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| Reviewed by Gianetta Ellis |
3/20/2009 |
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You've captured a concept that often transfuses my own writing. I am completely taken by the notion that humans exist to create and that the building blocks of our creations are our thoughts - the vehicles of energy that we project out to the universal ethers to manifest our focus. Thoughts and inspired action can, indeed, lead to our wildest, most divine dreams. There are some really wonderful lines here, Frank, and I especially like:
"Peeling off layers
In the days of his life" and
"As he forms his planets
And dresses them with moons."
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