The storm brewed within him for years
Gradually building in strength and ferocity
Deep in the jails of his mind, the confined parts
A rage, an inevitable liberation? Yes - a maturation
One wrought of elements and moulded by time
The vortex swirled and swirled, aflame
All that was false and pretence compacted into a singularity
Cast off into nothingness, the oblivion of the past
And in its place came trumpeting a primordial light
From the upheaving tempest came forth his soul
Prised from the veiled abyss of a dead self
And with it, a new kingdom, a reign of light
Such that he, at last, was now truly sovereign of himself
M.M. — 30-Dec-2014
30 December 2014
Lady of the Veil
Shining like a sun-kissed jewel
But light hidden from view
The Lady of the Veil spoke of such designs
Freedom in a world of confines
Held up in such high regard
But one not of her own desire
How could she be kept under guard
When in her chest raged a secret fire?
To say no when yes was the expected word
To liberate a mind caged in boredom
Unsheathe with all her natural passion her sword
And cut down the lies of a decrepit kingdom
The Lady: to be a warrior or a maiden?
But in truth she was both, and never compromising
Just as feminine as she was brazen heroine
Exuding a woman's grace and at once disruption rising
So she armed herself with great weapons
Steeling her mind with knowledge's might
Courage for her heart to continue her war on
All so that she may one day let shine that hidden light
M.M. — 30-Dec-2014
But light hidden from view
The Lady of the Veil spoke of such designs
Freedom in a world of confines
Held up in such high regard
But one not of her own desire
How could she be kept under guard
When in her chest raged a secret fire?
To say no when yes was the expected word
To liberate a mind caged in boredom
Unsheathe with all her natural passion her sword
And cut down the lies of a decrepit kingdom
The Lady: to be a warrior or a maiden?
But in truth she was both, and never compromising
Just as feminine as she was brazen heroine
Exuding a woman's grace and at once disruption rising
So she armed herself with great weapons
Steeling her mind with knowledge's might
Courage for her heart to continue her war on
All so that she may one day let shine that hidden light
M.M. — 30-Dec-2014
28 December 2014
A Half-Dream
Partly written on the edge of oncoming sleep
Found myself again in a crop of stars
Reaped by own impossible hands
Light turned dense and thick
Perception gradually lost with the
Amounting ponderousness
A plunging into the deep dark within
A dark coloured of yester-memories and
Unbridled lustful fantasy
Sequences infinite in scope and breadth
And myself lost in the night-forest
A forest of speaking stars
M.M. — 28-Dec-2014
Found myself again in a crop of stars
Reaped by own impossible hands
Light turned dense and thick
Perception gradually lost with the
Amounting ponderousness
A plunging into the deep dark within
A dark coloured of yester-memories and
Unbridled lustful fantasy
Sequences infinite in scope and breadth
And myself lost in the night-forest
A forest of speaking stars
M.M. — 28-Dec-2014
27 December 2014
Notes on Time
The greatest curse of being human
is not so much that we feel or are aware that we exist,
but rather, that we feel or are aware that we exist through time.
The humdrum repetitions inside my head
only worsen the realisation that we are able to remember
the past, to think upon our future in light of our past,
making it all so much more poignantly exacting.
Yes, cursed be time.
Our bones rattle like the rattle of dice,
like the rattling of the universe.
I can see it in my hands;
I look at it in the creases of my face.
The maddening of it all.
As we stretch ourselves,
and are stretched by time—
how we struggle to even perceive it.
But blessed be time,
for in it is our salvation.
Just as in it are the hopes of unwritten futures.
Though it is with the weight of time
that we suffer in anguish;
it is time, and through time,
that we seek our own salvation.
We feverously desire to leap
through the continual affliction, to the point
of catharsis, of release;
wishing things would be so much easier—but they are not.
Time is slaver.
And yet time is salvation.
M.M. — 27-Dec-2014
is not so much that we feel or are aware that we exist,
but rather, that we feel or are aware that we exist through time.
The humdrum repetitions inside my head
only worsen the realisation that we are able to remember
the past, to think upon our future in light of our past,
making it all so much more poignantly exacting.
Yes, cursed be time.
Our bones rattle like the rattle of dice,
like the rattling of the universe.
I can see it in my hands;
I look at it in the creases of my face.
The maddening of it all.
As we stretch ourselves,
and are stretched by time—
how we struggle to even perceive it.
But blessed be time,
for in it is our salvation.
Just as in it are the hopes of unwritten futures.
Though it is with the weight of time
that we suffer in anguish;
it is time, and through time,
that we seek our own salvation.
We feverously desire to leap
through the continual affliction, to the point
of catharsis, of release;
wishing things would be so much easier—but they are not.
Time is slaver.
And yet time is salvation.
M.M. — 27-Dec-2014
04 December 2014
Benighted winter come
Darkness the shroud has come again, cloaking your ever enervating body and shadowing the outer edges of your mind. Coldness, with serrated teeth, gnaws on flesh and your flame. Now you are but bones for the succumbing heralded by winter's clarion call. The call - its chill - frosty breath - speaks volumes of the declines and recessions. Of the shortening of day and dimming of light are the themes written and lived in this darkening time. Your night lengthens like death spreading out its robes of pitched eternity. Frosted scripts dictated by tenebrous thoughts deep in the hollows of an overcome spirit. And neither the world around is left spared. The timbered limbs of trees - ruined monuments of nature in cycle - stand bare and exalt, in unwilling morbid ostentation, the conqueror season. Your embattled body and its trials against the iced speared pricks of winter winds soldier through the darkened days and night's dominion. And it is through this - through the frozen, silent halls of winter - through benighted winter come - that you struggle and survive.
M.M. — 04-Dec-2014
M.M. — 04-Dec-2014
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