There is no tragedy in these bones. Trauma, maybe. But tragedy? Never.
Our palms are open books, and our lips will tell our story, all three-hundred-and-sixty-five miles of it. Sit back and listen up.
We are the children of the solstice. Our home is in the forest, and we were raised to dance inside the storm. We are brothers and sisters holding hands around the fire. We are sacred wild creatures and our marrow is burning with this truth.
We are children dancing inside the rainbow. We are faeries laughing in the sunlight. We are stardust manifest, and we sing our songs under the moonlight, our open hearts beating us back to our birthplace. Tragedy? He’ll never find us there.
So try me, try me. I dare you. I am a thousand ghosts burning with life that has yet to be extinguished — life that has yet to be turned into tragedy — tragedy, it has no place here. Feed me tragedy and I will swallow it, make it incoherent within my burning belly. I am alive with the fire of the gods, and no magician’s trick can hide this truth from me.
We are the open hearted and you’ll never stop our pounding hearts. We are wild lovers and you’ll never find us once we run. We have webbed feet and our souls sprout wings — we fly, and every season brings us new life.
I am stardust manifest. I am magic incarnate. We are divine, and we are the children of the divine. Tragedy is over.
This is written in my marrow. This is the song of my soul. The hymn of the open-hearted. The anthem of stardust.
[Cameron N. Coulter writes speculative fiction and poetry. He also likes to perform poetry, design ebooks, and tap dance. His poetry has previously appeared in Eye to the Telescope. You can visit his website at <http://www.cncoulter.com>.]