The universe is a concert hall and this song is for you
by Sara Stevenson
A galactic king is born by whim of the universe,
lovechild of quiet explosions and deep sighs of gas.
He is created by collisions and accidents, a human
if humans were put on shelves to ferment
in the halls of old orchestras.
He will pluck through broken guitar string stars,
inhaling dark matter like scented candles,
searching through his box of shiny toys—
dust flying everywhere, swimming in his eyes—
to find the brightest one.
She will scream from the back row of the audience,
muffled by the wails of all her pretty sisters,
some of whom are jealous they never got to shine
like she did. Bright and untouched by musicians
and gods alike, her voice unerringly sweet.
Her song is sad when she does not want to sing,
scattering waves so softly he cannot understand
why she is tarnished, an angel wrapped in silver.
Yet by lonely cold and a curious king, she polishes
her strings and trills a lullaby that brings us all to sleep.
About the piece:
“I wrote this piece when I was keenly feeling the weight of being alone. Loneliness is never easy and sometimes we try to force ourselves to be less lonely, and try to convince ourselves that we’re loved by those we are not. I think this piece is yearning for something that isn’t there, and is desperately picking a star and wishing on it, even before it’s ready. I struggle a lot with feeling like this, and in a broader way I think it’s something that people have struggled with since the dawn of time. We are trying to belong, but it is never so easy.” — Sara Stevenson
About the author:
An alumna of Ohio State, Sara Stevenson is a writer and artist, focusing on graphic design, animation and 3D art. Stevenson said she “lives in the world of dreams and imagination, spending many days entrenched in the what-ifs and rose-colored fantasies of how fantastic life could be.”
You can visit her portfolio, or connect on Twitter or Instagram.