The Birth of Fire

When I first discovered the fire inside me I was ambling in the dark;
I was a man in the body and in the life of a boy,
a god confined by the reality permitted by circumstance or accident.

I could not foresee where its light would take me,
but the ignition drew me in—deep and deeper still—into myself.
I was my own Prometheus, but stealing the fire from myself and giving to myself.

The flames reveal the tracks that lead to a thousand and different ambitions and futures.
These, I know now, have always been there, but before were unseen with my infant sight.

At times I may lose the feel of the burning,
but it never extinguishes—every time it comes back to me its blaze is just as fierce as before,
or even more so.

The fire is everywhere in me:
I see it in my hands, my body,
in my mind, in my paths and ways.

It is everything.

The fire at the beginning was a mere glow.
But now? Now the fire is an inferno—and I aim to set my fucking world on fire.

Ex Tempore LXX
M.M. — 30-Oct-2013

"it was the eyes"

it was the eyes
that tried and tried
and finally pried
opened the doors
of the soul and all
therein, wherein
shadowy and timid
love simmered;
or thighs like scythes
that tower to heights
where in the sky
the kingdom's walls
fall to thunder, torn
asunder by a simple
kiss from a fount of
blissful waters,
cauterising the open
wounds from which
seeped through
breath, and in: death.
yes, the lips ripped
fear away, so that dear
life ran reddened once
more, forevermore;
in her mind as I in hers.

Ex Tempore LXIX
M.M. — 29-Oct-2013

The Rider

The rider came from beyond the dawn
With a body weary but a spirit strong
And with him the day's morning song

On sable mare he had travelled long
To wherever his heart was flung
Where clouds and fear lowly hung

A sword bright as light to which he clung
Fatally known to those who it had stung
Unsheathed with still unmistakable hum

But the rider's end had finally come
All debts were paid and all deeds done
His recompense, his requested sum:
To rest forever with the morning sun

Ex Tempore LXVIII
M.M. — 28-Oct-2013

Running Away

There are times when just running away and disappearing from your life is an all too real temptation. This is semi-fictional: the account is made-up but the feelings behind it are genuine.

I remember I was sitting out on the porch one late afternoon watching the life of an uncommonly heavy storm play out. It was one of those storms—you know, like the ones in the autumn where it just rains and rains. I was on my own at the time; everyone else was in the house busy with preparing for some gathering. But this was fine as I was enjoying the temporary solitude. At first I wasn't thinking about anything much. The storm was mesmerising in itself, transfixing me with the pattering of the rain, the rumbling of the thunder. In a way watching this deluge was the most cathartic thing I could ever think of.

But then I started to reflect, which is never a good sign. I came to realise that there was a strange dichotomy in the storm and the life within the house behind me. Out in the storm things seemed to be much simpler. There was fluidity and dynamics to the storm's life; nothing was constrained and events were always in flux. In essence, a type of freedom was inherent in it. The life in the house—my life—was a leaden weight on my chest. I had been so restless then. A million million thoughts and worries ran marathons in my head and there was no end to them. And I think the crux of the problem was that I couldn't figure out how to make things better because I didn't know what was wrong; not really, anyway. It just seemed that I was a growing ever larger in a cage that was getting ever smaller, and maybe this had been of my own making or maybe it hadn't. What was certain was that the pacing and the restlessness was spreading me thin.

I eventually found myself fantasising about just getting up from my chair on the porch and just walking out into the storm and not coming back—at least not for a while. I wanted to just walk and walk, smell the rain, feel the water fall on me. There was something out in the distance that I was searching for; I wanted to find it, whatever it was. I had been waiting for something, or nothing—I don't think there was a difference, not one that mattered: I simply was not whole and badly needed to be. How easy it would have been to do it, to just leave. I felt in every part of me that my life was meant for more and how I hungered for it. It would have been completely irresponsible to have just left, yes, but the idea was undeniably tempting.

That was some time ago. Where do I stand now? I'm still looking out into the storm. I'm still looking for something (nothing). There is a peace that is out there I have yet to reach. The only difference between that autumn stormy afternoon and now is that I am much less afraid of the thought of running away.

"Turning together"

Turning together in the dark
Caught by each other as twin suns
Entwined serpents with fangs bared
Momentum and heat colliding together
And skin pale, rippling like a silvered pool
Moonbeams reflected on sweat-beaded flesh
Friction to ignition and exhalation
Tender in the moment with senses peaking
The tussling and tumbling and trembling
Crescendo in their tautened limbs

Ex Tempore LXVII
M.M. — 23-Oct-2013

"That night"

That night it was so cold but we still braved it to sit under the jewelled sky.
Under infinity you asked me about creation—and all at once bewildered me.
I think we were both searching for something, or waiting for nothing to stop being nothing.
Night was privy to our secrets and the cold was the medium for it all.
In those moments I felt connected—to time, space, you, myself.
I lost my fear of the unbearable isolation of consciousness.
That night we both gazed at the sky, and whilst infinity looked back
we found each other in the void.

Ex Tempore LXVI
M.M. — 09-Oct-2013