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DevelopmentI write this in light of the recent celebration of my 25 years that I have lived on this earth. It is a reflection that has certainly been made more poignant because of this important landmark, I think.
With each passing day in my life I have come to realise the nature of my development as an individual. I mean to say that I have come to comprehend that the person I am now is not—and I can say this with certitude—the person I was 10 years ago, and it will likely not be the person I will be 10 years from now. Moreover, I now understand that within the past 10 or so years it has been the case that I have progressed through particular discernible phases or stages—epochs has a nice ring to it—of development. They have been multiple and varied, some having occurred concurrently with others and some that are still ongoing.
Details of these epochs would require a separate posting altogether, one for each in fact, but to give just two examples: The first, nebulously put
BoxesQuiet conversations alone are nurtured
in this, the smallest of rooms;
a six-sided cell
sealed tight by the clamouring voices of
those of the outside world,
aliens to her own World.
Ten years of outgrowing and
when the realisation eventually
like a sledgehammer
to a house of discolouring glass,
that she has always held the room
in the palm of her ever strengthening hand.
And that just
—whatever, but of her own—
leading to a
The box, the room—
a womb to escape.
M.M. — 26-May-2013
In the StateFear was the best oppression. A perfect violence simply because it was an implied violence. It crept and skulked throughout the cities and in the remote villages like a mist that came out abruptly from the deeps of the impenetrable forest. It kept close to all like an inseparable companion, draped over the shoulders of hunched men and hushed women. Its tell-tale signs impressed on the children more and more as they grew older, they unfortunate enough to not know a world without the fear. It hung everywhere. In the streets, in the shops, in the dance halls, in the temples. It was a life form of its own. And perhaps it had become untameable, even by those who thought that the rope was theirs to wield. How could this be living? How could this be life?
But a passion still glowed in the eyes of Simon Daschink. He was a single man, a quiet man—a dangerous man. Or so all the men without names and sombre suits believed. Condemned for being just who he was, for loving another man. An abom
The ArtistI feared there was no stopping it once it had begun to set in me. The first incision split open my mind like an orchid entering its bloom. Everything suddenly became so clear, suddenly became so...real. I scarcely even knew what to call it, all that was happening to me: An epiphany, a revelation, inspiration—love? An electro-firestorm had let itself loose upon every one of the mindscapes in my head, and it ravaged everything it came across. But there was nothing I could have done about it. Not that I wanted to, anyway. I put forward no protestations and presented no opposition. The only thing I did was pick up my brush, prepare my paints and approach the blank canvas. If this was some craft of Madness's making then I wholly and willingly tendered my sanity and my mind to it. And then I began to paint.
M.M. — 06-May-2013
'Starting again'Starting again is one of the hardest things you could do,
To have to let go and forgo the certainty of what you've known;
When it seems to you that an entire life you've lived is through
And another needs to be built and once more made your own.
I cannot count the times I've lived a life, loved a time, and knew
It would eventually end, only for the process to revert to the beginning.
This is the theme of my song, the motif, the chorus, the tone.
M.M. — 30-Jan-2013
Emilia's EyesWhat I saw in Emilia's eyes,
glazed over in a translucent film of tears—:
The walls inside had finally toppled over,
on top of her
She was drowning, struggling
in the bottomless sea
under a grey storm that drowned the sky
Behind those eyes her story
and was hers to suffer
Everything else she did or said,
the way she tried to hold herself
could not hide the truth in her eyes
There was nothing beautiful in her exacting pain,
M.M. — 26-Dec-2012 | Amendment 22-Jan-2013
'She came onto me'She came onto
me like the onset
of winter, gradual
until I was caught
and my heart
was lost in her.
She set into me
and a claim was laid, silently,
my control from me. The best
of me was now for her,
ever to be; the sentence mine to incur,
willingly or otherwise.
M.M. — 14-Jan-2013
Threnody[Ex Tempore XXXV]
It is a hollow world we live in,
a hundred million cries reverberate
and shudder the mirrored walls of the city.
Death is no reverent thing here;
it is cold, heartless and rapacious.
It takes from us, with silent hands,
all the light in our lives,
and leaves us cracked and crumbled
and spiteful of the ostentatious motions of life.
Love is the most impossible of pursuits:
the chase enervating,
the loss end-closed.
And what life and love we may have...
the line we walk is precariously taut.
M.M. — Ianuarius MMXIII
CryCry if you need to
Do it for yourself
Cry if you want to
Over someone else
Cry like you mean it
Make it all okay
Cry like you have to
Get it out the way
Cry in the darkness
So no one can see
Cry in the sunlight
So you can be free
Cry like it kills you
Feel every tear
Cry like it’s healing
Nothing else to fear
Cry for the moment
The last goodbye
Cry for the memories
Cry, baby, cry
Cry, cry to Heaven
For the angel that fell
And if that doesn't work
Then cry, baby
Cry like Hell...
May you always Smile.I found no life -nor sign there of- when I entered my home this day.
Lost in an endless heat, brought by merciless May.
The place I was -that I found- was empty and I chanced to say: I have a time.
Callas I discarded -forsaken and unguarded- the tools of wrath and war.
Abandoned and unwanted -alone but not undaunted- left to rust on murky floor.
Smell of battle follows as I head for iron door: to wash this wounded body of crime.
Water comes to dull my pain and, in its ice -like rooftop rain- comes a feeling ill.
‘Does a reflection smile?’ Its master is grieved and slightly wild, but this is not his
Emerald skin feels emerald skin to confirm, yon smile is not mine.
“Hark” I said “What trick is this? Doth water fail? Doth it see my frown amiss?”
Lo, no words -as expected- and in this query I rejected: tis merely something to dismiss.
But woe, smile came once more and, unsettled and unsure, I left the water’s shine.
An empty Lair filled with
Man Vs MonsterKnight of Knights, Ruler of Kings. Justice of Heart, Man of Forgotten Things. Come now and lark,
I'll tell you the tale. A tale of a man, and a monster of deeds.
A monster of greed, a monster of pride. It oozed dark thoughts from tail to hide. Despair was its tail,
and its claws Distrust. Dread were its teeth, its eyes shameless joy of all these things.
The lair whoever dared to see was pure Agony, unjustly and inhumane, not meant for eyes of the sane.
Chaos followed like a shadow wherever this beast went, and just as silent. It was no giant of fire and blood,
instead it used its silvered tongue. Whispered words of vengeance and suspicion,
it lured its victims to treason unreasoned and against one another.
Mother to daughter, father to son, friends to friends to unforgivable ends. And while they killed each other,
it shuddered with laughter.
Sir Oden was purest of mind, surest of deed.
The monster was furious, a man resisted its corruption, and had the one Oden called brother to slaugh
SuperheroAs the night time fell,
grew a city into hell.
In this city of misbehaving,
the city folk need saving.
From the roof of a tall apartment complex,
stood a boy of blonde with white wear.
A young teen of only fifteen,
who must rid this town of its misdeeds.
He gazed at his struggling city
and felt no pity,
as he knew what must be done.
To free the innocent of fear,
the guilty he must make disappear.
After all it was all too fun,
but not so much for all
who wanted to see him fall.
He lifted his head to the cities cries,
to prevent a demise a hero must rise.
not the leastspent the night
thankfully unable to
catch up with sorrow
tripped over regret
so quick to conspire
fanned the flame
fed the beast
not the least
of my problems
DemolitionThe dirt of dusty decades
Lies upon the lath
Beneath a piece of plaster
I found a photograph
They smiled from the centuries;
Those mysterious three
Sent the musty memories
A message meant for me
Sara’s grave is gone, I guess
So long since laid low,
Yet, despite her ancient death
She smiles and waves ‘hello’
I cannot tell Annie’s age,
The words do not say
The owner wrote only names
Her face has frayed away
The baby in the buggy
Lifts a lively hand
She sits between her sisters
Beside the shining sand
This will be the only piece
From the dust so brown
That preserves their memory
Once this house is torn down
I AmI am old,
I am new.
I am red,
I am blue.
I am evil,
I am nice.
I am fire,
I am Ice.
I am remaining,
I am used.
I am a lie,
I am the truth.
I am many things,
As you can see,
And there's no one
That I'd rather be.
Speak.The Blue Jay whistles to the Dove.
The Dove Whistles to the Crow.
But the chances the Blue Jay's word gets to the Crow,
is a chance that can never be known.
Rainbow in the CloudsWhen things seem down,
when hope fails you,
when you feel weakened...
Look to the sky
for a smile from above.
A rainbow set in cloud
a sight to be seen.
With colors of red,
of blue and of green.
We are smiling at you,
we are here to bring you
You have not been forgotten
nor have you forgotten us.
We are here for you
even though we may
not be there with you
in physical form.
Our souls will travel
through time and through space
to where you are
We eagerly await
the day we can once more
to weather the storms.
We will continue
to call you home
so that you do not
lose your way.
What a grand day
it will be
to see you
where you belong
more than anywhere else
'A goddess once came to me' [Incomplete][Ex Tempore XXXIV]
A goddess once came to me
Slipping in like sin,
Dreary in a lithesome dream.
Telling me of what had been,
And worse: what was to be,
I plummeted from my pedestal
As a newly prescient king.
My reign was subject to fall
And I, a subject to whims
Of Fate, fickle and mercurial.
M.M. — Ianuarius MMXIII
Teenage TaoismGiving birth is the closest I’d ever felt to dying.
Before that, my near death experiences had consisted only of my silent announcement of pregnancy—silent, being that my social media accounts were all deleted almost simultaneously and I never returned to school in the fall, saying without really saying that I had caught the malicious disease of “teenage pregnancy”. I’m sure the whisper spread in the hallways like the Bubonic Plague. That September, sitting at home on what would have been the first day of my senior year, I imagined friends I’d never talk to again saying “she was only seventeen, and so full of life!” at my absence in the cafeteria tables, as if they were attending my funeral instead of talking about me behind my back.
"Full of life," I had snorted then, folding a never ending stream of what had once been my own baby clothes. "Literally."
I walked around like a zombie for the months of my pregnancy, deciding t
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