The Fault in Ourselves

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.

"How does it feel to be dying?"

She asks him one night.

And he replies with a brilliant grin, "It's not much different, actually."

So she rests her cheek against his chest,

And listens to his heartbeat.

Listens to it thump quietly against her ear,

Listens to the whisper of his breath,

Until

In the silence 

The earth stops turning

And the tears come down like rain

Unstoppable

Because she's found it

The rhythm of the universe.

It's so beautiful

Like the flowing of a river

And so, so fragile

Like a stained glass windowpane

And it is painful

Like the edge of a knife

And tender like a song.

No words exist because

That

That was

The price of being human

To possess a

Living

Beating heart.

He turns to her slowly

And when he looks at her

With pools of clearest blue

She sees stars in his eyes

And he reaches out to touch her cheek

"Don't cry," he says,

"Don't cry. This is who I am and this is who we are.

We are all born to die,

And only the stars can decide when it is our time."

And he takes her hand

And presses it to his lips,

"You can have my heart.

You can have all of me,

Every single breath and every single thought in my body."

The dawn comes slowly

And she stays with him

She stays with him and tells him stories

Stories about the stars and the dark

Stories about life and love and death and hope

His head against her knee

And she sings

And she sings until he falls asleep.

And then she goes on singing.

She goes on singing because that's who she is.

She is time

She is fate

She is the end of all things and she is the beginning

She is the stars.

She is his

She is his heart, his soul, his body, his mind

She is the drum against his chest, the breath between his lips

She is his voice

And he, her rhythm

And she sings and sings and sings

Sings until her voice is dry and her breath is gone

Sings until the sun burns out

Sings until she is with him again

Among the stars

And when her voice is spent

She smiles instead

And lays down her head

And with barely a breath she asks him,

"Is this how it feels to be dying?"

And he wraps her in his arms and places a kiss on top of her head.

"It's not much different, actually."

Author's Note

So I was feeling melancholy and contemplative. Not a good mix, evidently.

Reviews

[Professor Xeronian]

So true, so true. Is it weird that I thought it could be related to Doctor Who in some instances?

[Rose of Gondor]

well, it's a poem about stars and dying. So yes, I get where the referencing is coming from. To be honest with you, I wrote this after watching the Season 2 finale, while crying. SO. Yeah. It is sort of related. Inspired, shall we say.

[Brittany Zedalis]

This is absolutely beautiful.

[Rose of Gondor]

thank you so much :D

[FlamingPhoenix]

This is truly beautiful and I enjoyed this piece very much. I'm glad your name turned up in my feed after a friend reviewed your work. Thank you for sharing!

[Rose of Gondor]

thank you so much for your kind words! And thank your friend for me :D

[Frieda P]

So glad I bumped into you, this is an enthralling read....enchanting, I'm hypnotized in your words.

[Rose of Gondor]

glad I bumped into you too! Thank you so much for the kind review.

[Frieda P]

That last sentiment has lingered, the pleasure was all mine...

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

Something so lovely and romantic about this poem, I was mesmerized as I got lost in your verse.

[Rose of Gondor]

thank you so much for your time and for your lovely words! I got into a "philosophize about life" mode...and well, this happened. Thank you so much!

[The Rock And Roll Cowboy(REBEL WITH A CAUSE)]

Nothing wrong with that… any conversation that expands the mind and brings creative inspiration is good.

[Glen Yumang Manese]

"It's not much different, actually."
---
I liked the one liner...of this verse...
the fillers are well designed also...
but the way this goes in the beginning...
and takes that issue back in the end:

"It's not much different, actually."

[Rose of Gondor]

thank you so much for taking the time to read and review! That one liner was what actually got me to write this poem to begin with, because that was the thing I wanted to explore. If one thinks about it, we're all dying, every single second of every day. What makes aware of that death is a due date. But that date could be any day. So, what would be the difference between living your life, knowing you've got two months, knowing you've got two years, or not knowing how many years, how many months, how many days or how many minutes you have? The truth is, it wouldn't be much different if we started to actually LIVE our lives.

[Glen Yumang Manese]

Well-said...you're welcome...