The Voice Issue 29: May/June 2017 - Page 40



(In the style of Robert Frost)

Far across the windswept and darkened sea,

The tips of waves lightened by stars above,

Rise rosy granite cliffs from a surging surf,

High heights topped by a crown of emerald firs.

Glittering like so many coveted facet jewels

That should have adjourned some high king's brow;

But instead they stood still, ever shining lights,

Sentinels, standing guard against the starry night.

Planted by a twisting worn dirt path,

So worn there by the passing of lost time;

The path itself seeming lost among tree trunks,

Disappearing into yonder misty glades.

So follow the path through clouding fog,

And walk into the weeping glades,

Comprised of willows, flowered branches ladened

With watery tears yet to be wept and shed.

While there, take the time to observe what has

Been lost to the ravages of times since past.

The splintered remains of shattered evergreens,

Now turning to the earth from whence they came.

For they are dust, and to dust they shall return,

Then for the mountains- distant blue figures;

Rising from the dust of ages past, high up,

Snowy tips that reach for the Heavens-

An ability which mortal- which mortals lack,

An ability of immortality.

But stone is made from Mother Earth,

And her lands are made from the dust of times.

And dust being a fragile material,

Crumbles with the passing of many years.

And so those mountains added their life dust,

To the earthy lands, and sandy seas-

I'd be hopeful in my thoughts to think;

That when time comes to take my dust,

That it be merciful, and sprinkle-

My shimmering dust into the night,

So that I might live among the stars;

And shine light below, on the passing cycles.

- Benton Cesanek, Crossroads Academy, Lyme, NH