Collection of Whispers

Her Mission Poem Two

It was her mission,

a guide,

as she contemplated suicide,

glancing for a second or two

at the gun used to murder

her estranged husband,

she knew,

what she had to do,

thinking about the father

of her two children,

thinking, thinking,

eyes rapidly blinking,

one shot,

the lead was hot,

a ghost would shout,

as the blood ran out.

Collection of Whispers

Mid-Night Sounds Poem One

Insects would fly

during the night,

filled suddenly by a nearby

collection of whispers,

some helpless,

with a lack of light,

only sorrow coming near,

as a mild intoxicating shock

was sent through the air,

shadows were cast all over the grounds,

opening up to rising mid-night sounds,

almost gripping the night,

and images staring in fascination,

utterly unmoved and out of visual sight,

the haunting thoughts would grow,

time, would slow,

and what’s left were stronger than dreams,

with eyes that glow,

and tears that streams,

as the collection of whispers, beam.

© 2011 Frank Atanacio

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