Uploaded March 2012 | Updated September 2026, 5 days ago

---

Vidder: Loki
Title: These, Our Bodies, Possessed By Light
Song: Sarajevo
Artist: Max Richter
Warnings: spoilers for s7
Category: general/AU-ish
Characters/Pairings: Sam, Dean
Summary: Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.

A/N: I've wanted to somehow vid Richard Siken's poetry for a very long time, because I think it's very relevant to the show. I'm pretty sure half of the fandom thinks so too. I didn't know at first how to do it but then I finally found the readings - seriously, it's ridiculous how hard it was - and I'm pretty sure it's read by Siken himself? Anyway.

A friend of mine recced me this composer - Max Richter - who is simply amazing. Absolutely recommend especially if you want to right some angsty-shmangsty stuff. After that it was pretty much like two and two.

I really liked two of his poems - "Scheherezade" and "Road Music" - so I kind of mixed those together? I hope the Universe will forgive me. I wanted to show a story through those two poems or vice versa I guess. It's kind of Sam's story through Dean's eyes and how he lost his brother with the battle for the world in the end. I also kind of wanted to show the parallels of what was before - in their childhood - then and now and in the future that could have been. Sort of? I swear it does make sense in my head, but then again - my head is one strange place. Anyway. I promised faege I'd ramble about this vid but I guess I can make a coherent comment about it. If you wanna talk about it or discuss it - you're always welcome to do so! :D

Here's the text that I made out of the two poems (excuse weird punctuation and lines):

Tell me about the dream
where we pull the bodies out of the lake
and dress them in warm clothes again.
The eye stretches to the horizon and then must continue up.
Anything past the horizon
is invisible,
it can only be imagined.
You want to see the future but
you only see the sky and no one could sleep.
Looking back is easy for a while and then looking back gets
murky.
There is the road, and there is the story of where the road goes,
and then more road,
the roar of the freeway, the roar of the city sheening across the city.
It's more like a song on a policeman's radio.
And the days
were bright red.
He was not dead yet, not exactly —
parts of him were dead already, certainly other parts were still only waiting
for something to happen,
something grand, but it isn't
always about me,
he keeps saying,
though he's talking about the only heart he knows —
just slice into pieces.
Look at the light through the windowpane.
He could build a city. Has a certain capacity.
That means it's noon, that means
we're inconsolable.

There's a niche in his chest
where a heart would fit perfectly
and he thinks if he could just maneuver one into place —
well then, game over.
You wonder what he's thinking when he shivers like that.
What can you tell me,
what could you possibly
tell me?
Sure, it's good to feel things, and if it hurts,
we're doing it to ourselves,
or so the saying goes, but there should be
a different music here. There should be just one safe place
in the world.
Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.
These, our bodies, possessed by light.
Tell me we'll never get used to it.
And I don't like the way the song goes.
You keep singing along to that song I hate.
Stop singing.