tragedy, no more

it is always broken hearted heroes

and breaking into pieces;

nothing but tragedies piling up to olympus’ peak.

do you hear the whispers?

the cries echoing up from the river styx

the begging, the pleading --

“bring him back to me,”

“let me see her again.”

“where have they gone?”

“where do i go?”

but though they cry,

no longer heroes as much as abandoned, lonely soliloquies,

no one will ever respond. no god, no savior, no forgiving entity -- indeed, no hero will come.

for in wishing for a hero,

you wish for another’s demise.

“name one hero who was happy,”

said achilles,

because he knew how deeply tragedy ran in a hero’s blood

and he claimed it would not run in his,

only to lose it all in the end. to lose him --

and he was everything.

“show me a hero,

and i will write you a tragedy.”

but why is that --

why is it always tragedies?

it seems to be a hero is to be sworn to tragedy,

to be fated to a loveless, hopeless end,

abandoned by the world, by the gods,

lost in the underworld, separated from your love --

from the only person or people or whatever it may be that you truly needed to save. the only being that could have saved you.

do not write me another tragedy;

i have seen far too many.

write me the love, the happy ending --

abandon the world if you must.

do what it takes, or let our heroes do what it takes,

to have what they love,

to finally be the ones who are saved.

if a hero cannot be both happy and a hero,

then let us throw the idea of heroes aside.

just for one happy ending,

for one eternal love.

let orpheus turn and see eurydice right behind him;

let achilles and patroclus win the war together.

give these heroes the ending of eros and psyche --

soul and desire, bound to one another fatefully.

for once, let melpomene cast aside her mask of tragedy;

the muses shall sing of a happy ending.

of two lovers, hand in hand --

heroes no longer.