First Passions

First passions leave indelible marks
Second ones are even more bittersweet
Like an old memory turned evening fantasy
So much beauty infused into a single thing
A whole life generated from a nutrition of fire

Once, I saw in the unending sky, a name
Something akin to a song or an effortless kiss
It flowed in, like warm water over my skin
I drew in a breath, a deep breath—my very first
Just a name, written in the vaultless sky

What we grow to know during our measured lives
Belies the unfathomable hidden in our measureless minds
It is all just a wild ride, of happenstance and questioning
The lucky ones see the universes in others' eyes
The brave ones sail across the dark seas, heart in hands

And I would give it all for that feeling of awe
To take it with me once more on my wayward way
Anything just to live fully one more time
One last time before the final dream takes me

Remembrance

You've found yourself in the swirling storms of
a mechanized world, churning hellishly upon the
planes of forests swept away and paved over.
Eyes glazed over by lethargy and apathy;
body and heart left weary by a heinous society.
Once you were enwrapped by winds channeled
through deep valleys and the mists of primeval waters.
Every new day is no new day, but instead a
struggle of breath and bone against the synthetic.
You've forgotten the chemical dance of flame.
The imperceptible scales of cosmic time and space.
The molecular life seen in every leaf and in every
beat of a heart; nature's signature in all things.

M.M.

"In that room"

In that room, I saw a reflection of a man that I could become, that I wanted to be. A man stood upon the foundation of his self-constructed principles and the ashes of his bygone strife. A vision of a future that I had lost sight of not long ago. An accreted inner peace, born out of a lifetime of sleeplessness and restlessness, imbued the scene. What I viewed in the briefest of moments was a world won, a distance finally crossed. In that room, I caressed the bright plumage of hope and felt the cooling of a sun-lashed earth, the restful evening I have longed for finally come.

"What sonorous cry"

What sonorous cry heard in the dead of the night?
A wild running through the mind
Hapless and weak, as a child in the forest, lost
A tremendous weight held fast to the heart
A tremendous love left aimless and yet fervent
The cold keeps to the body, a respite from the heat
A fire that will not abate, that will not die
Though no desire to let it expire; there never was
The scale, balanced on a knife's edge
One choice: to live but to hurt
The other: to die but to rest
There never was a choice; not with her
It is all part and parcel of the path
A journey not meant for the restful
It is but thunder and aching
Always sleepless and ever-stirring
That which gives life and purpose and strength
The curse and the gift—this love
The upheaval is set and directed
What sleep is left is for the dead and the loveless

M. M.

Fallen

The Fallen God stood atop the peak, the imperial sun above His
broken diadem, above His shattered godhead, searing His wingless back.
A great lance in His hand, a brand of fire and apostasy, a terrible thing.
With a movement of blinding light and imperceptible speed, He raised
His weapon and thrust down the spear, down into the mountain upon
which He domineered, down into the Earth, through rock and crust,
through spirit and mind, piercing the veil between god and man and
matter. What wailing arose, reaching into the world, beyond the seas and
the lands. A cry first heard before sound was sound, when time was young.
The God awoke the Old Things, dispersed the lies and dogma.
What reigned before would reign no more. It would no longer be fear
that would be the principle directive, the false law compelling men to
lash themselves to the book or the cloth or the martyr.

M. M.

11 p.m.

You are a creature of delirious fever.
I fantasize about what your skin must feel like.
How you are, in your most natural of states.
I would map every groove and curvature.
And every hidden place of you.
A cartographer lost in a new world.

How I dream of you.
Always you are there, in the darkness.
A phantasm never laying to rest.
Flitting from thought to shadow, shadow to thought.
Oh, you are the wild thing in my mind.
The ravenous thing.
The sinful thing in me.

M. M.

"Come to rest"

Come to rest, the surge had ceased
A tempest of unspoken hurt
Once wild, now still
Inside, a world had been built
Edifices of glass and light
An Eden in a forest of darkness
Harried by onslaught after onslaught
Kilometer-high waves had come once and again
But now the sky expanded, azure and clear
The sounds of the world sung themselves
Softly now – a breeze, a whisper
And at least sleep, a sweet slumber
And stillness, deep, there in the world

M. M.

"Sleep"

I slept so deeply. More deeply than I had in months, in an eternity. But it was a deep slumber that belied the terror that lay in waiting. The dream was a pseudo-memory filled with falsehood and truth, a fantasy mixed with pleasures and nightmares of a future past or a future to come or a future never to be realized. But no worse a thing was the role I played with no choice: that of omniscient spectator. I think now that gods, all-knowing and omnipresent, are beings to be pitied, for they bear the weight of not only what is and what was, but of what will be—and the variegated colors of chaos of known-unknowns. The sleep and the dream that I endured, helplessly, though deep and uninterrupted (unlike in nigh on all previous instances), was a manifestation of all that I feared but knew to be truth. All that I knew was just waiting to come, one fateful day in the waking world.

M. M.

Examining your beliefs

With some careful consideration one may come to realize that any philosophy—be it political, moral or metaphysical—originates, is accepted or is practiced through the vehicle of the individual. So, it is by the token of any person's desire for autonomy and self-direction that such genesis, assimilation or espousal of particular philosophies must have at its heart a responsibility of ownership held and accounted for by the individual. In other words, one must take it upon oneself to rationalize and fully consider the tenets of one's beliefs and their consequent imperatives. It is not enough to take things for granted; it falls short to just take oneself at one's own word. Rather, I would say it is an obligation to examine, and update where necessary, the nature of what one believes, especially in the case where one actively seeks for others to share the same beliefs. This I would argue is salubrious as, from time to time, a people, composed of individuals, must assess the "health" of their values. The state of the world turns on a dime and it is not rational to believe that one need not turn along or keep up with it.

The Wonder Physical

It is the light that unveils the soul
Dispelling darkness of the unknown

Elevating worlds of the quantum
That whirl in magic and momentum

M. M.