Prima Ballerina [Incomplete]

I had not known grace until I saw her move,
like a white rose petal tumbling slowly with the wind,
falling onto the stillest pool of wintry water.
Beauty—beauty is a word created just for her.
She entered and danced upon my heart en pointe,
stepping so lightly over every inch of it.
Could I smell her fragrance from where I sat dumb,
as she wafted like a wraith across the Lake?
[...]

Draft IV
M.M.
Writ 28-Dec-2012 // Pub. 31-Aug-2013

Evil Man

The faces of all those I killed
Appear in the briny waters so still
From the mists I can hear their wails
Shrieking and forceful as the gales
I try to block the ceaseless sonic flood
And notice on my hands the blood
Undrying like the undying around me
As crimson red as this fitful sea
My now-ended life knew crime
Crime that will echo through time
But time catches up with you
And what a price I pay for what I accrued
Somehow I realise: this is my damnation
Suffering eternal—most fitting retribution
And with every death knell of a bell
I sail closer to the shores of Hell

Ex Tempore LIX
M.M. — 28-Aug-2013

Improvisation

Fallen star, falling sun - held together by force of will from sources a million million years old.
I come careering wayward along my own way, a path carved and curved as I go - slow or wholly as light.
Amongst the faithless, we are the fateless. Each our own and our own is where we make our homes.
Eight minutes to the sun and back is a lifetime we could negate or embrace. And are we not starlight after all?
Footfalls upon the earth and we fall away from the outward voids and the cold, where we shall end.
Flesh and bone. Wood and stone. Air and sea. Time to see. I wend my way and suspend the tedium in days.
I would halve myself and give half my heart - or the whole -  to you, if you would ascend with me to hell and descend to heaven.
Beginning where I end, I am the son of the sun and my being stardust.
Fallen star, falling sun - held together by force and will and a million million years.

Ex Tempore LVIII
M.M. — 15-Aug-2013

The Art of Dying

How we die is just as important as how we live. The course of life should be a wondrous journey, but it is a journey that has a terminus and this should be recognised. Death is something I do not think we talk as openly about as we should. It is an integral part of nature and is with and around us always. And I mean not to say that we should dwell on the finality of our existence; quite the opposite: All that we concern ourselves with regarding our day-to-day living will be the whole of what we look back on when the end eventually comes. Living should be the first and foremost focus of life; that goes without saying. But when the matters of living are no longer relevant, the matters of dying take precedence. And when it comes to the matters of dying, above all else I wish to die well. I understand this now that I am older. I will admit that when I was a child, death frightened me...to death, but now that I have accepted and understand the nature of things I make it my aim to die well and to die on my own terms (as much as circumstances would allow). I wish to leave no unfinished business behind. When I go, I want to go with no baggage. This is the Art of Dying.

Life and Death

I learned all I needed to know
About the meaning of life and death
In the falling of the last snow
When my father exhaled his last breath

Every lesson I could have been taught
About the ends and the starts
I was given when one day I fought
With all the misgivings in my heart

I stopped being afraid of death
When I was still young
When I learned to love every breath
And love every new sun

Things come and cease to be
As surely as the pace of time
And when time comes for me
I will not fear the dividing line

So every minute of every hour of every day
I should cherish as much as I can live
And live as fully and well, come whatever may
And give to my life till I no longer live

Ex Tempore LVII
M.M. — 03-Aug-2013