In the city, after battle,
to the park I walk to meet you,
hoping vainly I can navigate
the streets the soldiers shook with war
with tanks and boots and guns and corpse.
These aren't the streets that I remember,
though the signs insist my error.
Surely more is left than embers...
Ah, here I see my father's store.
Half of it is now a crater,
glowing with its burnt decor--
I can feel the burning embers
mix their souls with distant tremors.
There's a table, still and standing,
where I sat and watched, enchanted,
as the snow, which softly fell
was landing on my town and home.
Now these falling things which land
are ashes in the stead of snow,
filling up the trees and road
with black and gray-- and melt the snow.
Moving now beyond the store,
my heart is heavy, stung with war,
nervous that you'll not be present
when I arrive as planned before.
But-- if your soul is still within you,
then perhaps I can continue...
Maybe I can help rebuild...
or scrap the old world--
"Seth grew up in Sabattus, Maine. He is currently a senior at Oak Hill High School. His plan is to one day be an engineering geologist."
Seth was introduced to us by published author Martha Stevens-David. We hope that Seth will continue to share his poetry with our readers, for they will certainly enjoy it. If any reader wishes to write to Seth they may do so c/- R.P. BenDedek email@example.com or c/- Martha firstname.lastname@example.org