Beneath the Wave

Made of Galaxies

We have forgotten what it means to be made of Galaxies.

The poets remind us that we have stardust in our veins and Oceans inside our souls,

But do we truly feel it?

In a world of places and things,

Of laws and limitations,

I forget that I am matter-

I have forgotten that matter cannot be destroyed,

only changed,

And I forget that I am a piece of the universe.

I look up at the stars and I am in awe of their beauty,

I look at the moon and I am hypnotized by its sorcery.

Never once do I remember that I am made of the same energy.

People have been telling me since I was a child that magic isn't real-

That I live in a fantasy world,

That it's time to "grow up."

They have forgotten the magic in their own veins,

And they would have me do the same.

And something inside of me is screaming,

And I believe it is my soul desperately trying to cling to its own power.

I am made of stars, and meteors, and planets,

But I feel as if I am crafted of mud, and dirt, and clay-

Brittle, breakable, all too easily chipped away at like obsidian or sandstone.

One day, we're all going to die.

And whatever you believe in-

Heaven or hell or oblivion-

There is scientific evidence that reminds us that matter cannot be destroyed.

And when stars collapse into themselves,

Can they truly die?

Can we truly be more or less than we are?

I have always been made of magic,

And I will always carry the DNA of the universe inside of me.

I am not something as ordinary or common as a human,

And neither are you.

We are fire and diamonds and sorcery,

And our magic does not die just because we cease to believe in it.

And Stars can't die;

They explode, and collapse, and collide,

And still, they are never nothing. 

No matter what you become, 

whether a nova or a neutron or a black hole,

We are the precious paragons of galaxies.

Feel the magic in your own DNA.