100 Years
(Written in honor of the Beacon Centennial)
One hundred years, a city has withstood,
The calms and storms of temporal plodding pace.
It's changing thoroughfares, and neighborhoods,
Much like expression on a loved one's face.
The lines reflecting deep serenity,
That comes of wisdom won from toil and strife,
The pallor of concern. The scarlet sheen,
Of joyful jubilation, flush with life.
Infuriation and complacency,
Determined pride and shying, modest glance,
The soft, inviting smile of charity,
The pleasure and the pains of deep romance.
And yet, the soul is mostly our concern,
Beyond the aspect formed of passing years.
It’s not the lips from which our passions burn,
It’s not the eyes from which spring forth our tears.
It is the countless who have walked these streets,
Who issued blood and breath through thought and deed,
Their lofty triumphs and contrite defeats,
Their very spirit formed in effigy.
All this, commanding our fair countenance.
Indelible in bricks, instilled in stone,
The hopes and fears, the love and happenstance,
Of each who ever called this place their home.
The calms and storms of temporal plodding pace.
It's changing thoroughfares, and neighborhoods,
Much like expression on a loved one's face.
The lines reflecting deep serenity,
That comes of wisdom won from toil and strife,
The pallor of concern. The scarlet sheen,
Of joyful jubilation, flush with life.
Infuriation and complacency,
Determined pride and shying, modest glance,
The soft, inviting smile of charity,
The pleasure and the pains of deep romance.
And yet, the soul is mostly our concern,
Beyond the aspect formed of passing years.
It’s not the lips from which our passions burn,
It’s not the eyes from which spring forth our tears.
It is the countless who have walked these streets,
Who issued blood and breath through thought and deed,
Their lofty triumphs and contrite defeats,
Their very spirit formed in effigy.
All this, commanding our fair countenance.
Indelible in bricks, instilled in stone,
The hopes and fears, the love and happenstance,
Of each who ever called this place their home.
