song of the stars

Immortality

is a dinosaur

(or maybe a dragon)

a beautiful nightmare; a terrifying daydream

unending possibilities

unending heartache.

But you still don't know--would it be worth it?

You feel it stirring in your soul long before you give it a name. The eerie feeling you've been here and done this before, that you've known a thousand names and held a hundred hearts between your soft, living hands

but not here.

When you were twelve, you would lay under the stars and piece together constellations

tracing the stars on your arm

(Orion's belt--was it a sign? or just

a trick of fate)

They seemed to you kindred, singing

in voices as high and white as silver, of eternity

of oblivion

and you sang too

(but not aloud).

Now you sit in crowded coffee shops and stare across the table at

mortals. Caught up in their troubles, worrying

about jobs or romance or ethics.

You like being among them because

it grounds you and

keeps

     you

           from

               floating

away.

But when you feel 

the autumn wind in your hair

fresh from turning dying leaves into a dancing whirlwind

when you hear songs of kings and queens

or gods

or poets

when you stare up into the blackness of the night

and feel your heart whisper, "friends, I have missed you"

it is then that you recognize the dragon 

(or maybe the dinosaur)

for what it is.

Immortality.

The feeling that you alone know what it is

to live eternity over and over again

to catch a glimpse of the beyond

but never touch it

to always hear the song ringing in your ears

but never sing it.

Know this, mortals.

There may be only one of us

But we dwell among you

forever.