The Sea

My sleeping spirit wakes
As the town’s vespers
Climb the stairless sky
And the sea whispers.

The rushing waves crash
On the craggy
Shores of consciousness
And the sea whispers.

Like an ancient song
Or some sailor’s dirge
Which the pale waves hum
As the seas surge.

Through the hidden grottoes
And deep cavern waters;
The countless demesnes
Through which she whispers,

Through some magic seashell
On some antique shore
Echoing, a thousand words
Of sage like lore.

On the earthly sod,
Of buried treasures
And sunken ships
She quiet whispers.

Like a forlorn nymph
Weeping sorrowful rivers
In some hallowed cave,
As the sea whispers;

Hoping for love’s tidings,
Her quiet vespers
Over boundless seas
Softly, she whispers.

Like a sinking swan
With broken feathers
Whose soul flies
On the sea’s whispers.

So my dreaming spirit
Slumber enters
As clouds veil the moon,
And the sea whispers.

 

Behind the Sparkling Light in all Men’s Eyes

Behind the sparkling light in all men’s eyes
Across the wide arcade of twinkling skies
Lie hidden hopes and dreams of those who died
Who wished but not in vain to have tears cried.
Their story goes like many who have gone,
Yet nameless, still ringeth their clarion:
Like the wind that carries the trumpet’s call,
Or the waves that take us through life’s falls;
So must the smallest flicker our guide become
Our only guide in life through the maelstrom,
Like glimpsing the light of a nameless star
Who leads us to ‘n fro places afar;
Such things as turn men’s sights into a haze
May be those things which change our ways,
Like that shining light of a nameless star
Out in the corner of the skies afar,
Which causes us to wonder at the sky
As our hearts with the unknown come nigh.
Our wits lie solely in these shapeless skies
Whose forms to the eye remain in disguise
For light when caught in the corner of one’s eye
Across the arcades of the mind’s peaks high
That twinkling spec in the eyes of mortals
Reminds us all of that immortal;
Like that shining light of a nameless star,
Out in the corner of the skies afar.

 

The Flowers

On a balmy mid afternoon stroll
Across many young floral gardens
I met on those fields that roll
A blushing rose who all love pardons.

Humming birds about it flutter
And bees it sweet colors admire
And I hear the old miser’s mutter
As a storm prepares its thunderous ire.

“Beauty is eternal truly”
I heard that beautiful rose say
But who can find me a beauty
Who won’t one day just wither away?

So fleeing, I turned back home instead
And found flowers shedding tears of dew;
“Don’t let the world see you cry” I said
And they replied “We cry for you.”

 

David Bellemare Gosselin is a student in classics and languages in Montreal.

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