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.