Stars

We found our love out where the wolves came to die.

When we had already killed all the old gods,

And the torment of isolation no longer held us.

 

Fires burning bright as daylight we lit,

And the warmth of our companions steeled us

Against that blank expanse of desert before us.

 

And we took all the pain and fear

From all those years of silence and pretense,

And threw them on the flames to burn.

 

The days of taking breaths, and taking hits,

And taking turns being cold are over.

We are finished with all that now.

 

We took our love out onto the desert floor,

Where the stars are as important to us

As the fires that keep us warm at night,

 

To take the hands that hurt and bled,

And hurt others, and made others bleed,

And join them and forgive.

 

With our ripped jeans and callused hands,

Our Converse All-Stars and cotton handkerchiefs,

Fashions fading faster than the sun behind the hills,

 

We decided on our faiths and on our fears,

That we can’t be afraid of the dark,

Because it only reveals to us the stars we lose at daybreak.

 

Out there in the cold, and the warmth,

We took a stand against the emptiness of the night,

And painted our own stars into the blackness.

 

Alongside the dying ones, the fading ones,

And ones lost in the absent lengths of time,

We made our own universe.

 

And up into the cosmic desert we then stared,

And pondered on when the snow would fall again,

If it ever would fall on us again.

 

And we asked, Can they see us now; our fires burning,

Our clothes tearing, our hands holding, and being held,

From their distant places?

 

It doesn’t matter.

We have it in us so much nearer home,

To be warm enough with our own stars.


Sebastian is a poet without pretense.