The Life of Raistlin, A Chronicled Life Options

[S-Majere]

I wrote this set of poems two or three years ago to chart the fictitious life of my hero, Raistlin Majere.

It's a long read, but even now I find it quite intriguing - I wonder what I was on at the time!



The Beginning

At first, unanswered
Wrapped in a warm embrace
Smothered in soothing fluid
Drowning in dark devotion.

He sleeps.

He dreams silently
And dances with the dragons in the sky
His twilight watch only just starting
Content to grow and sigh

He stirs.

Yet as the dreams progress
That darkening seed unwraps
And tendrils crawl like sea-tide
Planting desire inside and out.

He frowns.

Tiny cells busy like beetles
Building his passions
Tweaking each weakness into alignment
Like solar-light behind the moon

He kicks.

A memory bursts like rotten fruit.
A name. A voice. A face. A need.
His mind flutters and sparks,
Revives the dying embers.

He cries out.

Purpose implants itself
Coiled inside his being
Biding Father Time for breath
A delay before full growth.

He smiles.



Progression

Years of rain fall about trees that lose each game over and over
And puddle like wood-yard shrapnel designed in foreign corners
An intricate waltz of clumsy seasons. Pull.
String theory.
The thread dragged onward;
Oblivious to the indulgent tapestry
Woven as weed and bloom over feathered skin

The seed, patient snake, waits still within his growing mind,
And smiles succinctly at each new discovery
Pondering how to use the moment
To nourish treasures buried deep.

Passions yet to be realised or recognised as such
Linger within castle walls high and moral
Dawns’ sweet dusk rotates unending
Yearning his release, bitter upon the earth.

Each day that marches, tireless and determined
The army of hours that creep like desperate wraiths
Brings forth curiosities burning within the dregs
Rationing each existence with venom.




Forgotten Half

It lay there.
A face without a tail.
Cobwebs, lacy adornings upon
Skin polished dark.

Occasionally,
They
Would clean it,
With effort made of rags.

Then leave
Again.
As always.
The corner to it’s disgust.

But when He came;
Tentative hands grasping
As goldfish,
He smote the dust,

And cast out the
Isolation;
Founded by years alone.
He stroked the shiny

Polished wood.
And murmured soft words of
Approval.
Over and over he turned the staff,

Watching the deep scars
Open wider and hiss
Promises
Of might,

And power.
He breathed softly,
An intruder in
His own.

He paid with
A single copper coin
‘That’ll do.’
He ignored

Their derisive comments,
And carried home His
Prize.
(Though innocent).

Once returned he used
Silk
To brush back the disquiet.
He pressed cold lips

To warm wood
And kissed.
The voice returned
With Promises.



The Choice

Upon the barren earthly summit
The peak of frail mortality
A life – broken gem –
Shines in faltering uncertainty.

He sees all. The
Chaos, vying eternally with the
Peace; divided by Neutrality,
Wondering where he stands.

Unsure, alone, unsupported
An abandoned treasure
One loved and cherished by all
Now left, forgotten, to Age.

Confused, as birds from flown nest
He wavers between fine lines
Downfall, Betrayal, Redemption;
Tempting and making choices known.

A last, unconcerned
He lifts the blanket of fear
Straight-backed, aloof, immortal
Resolved to walk his own.



His Finest Hour

Standing damage over Earth
He preserves his fractal being
Watching his splinter form on thousands,
And smiling grim approval.

His hair, those wasp-whispers
Lie as chaos over shoulders thin and frail.
As sky crumbles and earth falls
He grins, deaths head, to all.

Bitter eyes mock bitter stars
And grudges long against the light
A slated sneer defends his will,
Deflects the fall of night.

Mortality touches and desires
Only to be repulsed to carry on
And on into the darkling sun
He strides, immortal, ever on.



The Fall

At last it came
The creeping noise
Silent and draining

It fell about his ears
And mocked and sneered and grasped and hurt
His mind at last enslaved to her.



Shards

They reflect dully; a hearts hope wrenched by a clumsy happenstance,
Scattered like petals over unkind concrete.
Tantalizing fragments promised by voices of gods,
Now broken, fractured, dying,
In the cold light of an unforgiving sincerity.

He lies, an unruly heap of blasted regret,
Distraught and chilled on earth-bone.
Trembling fingers thrash like roots -
Catching his shining dreams as they fall.

Whispered tears bathe the burning ground.
His staff, in wretched ruins by his side.
A twisted apology scorns his blood,
Stealing over the starving soil.



The Last Goodbye

Hourglass eyes trickle over her flesh,
His breath catches in his throat and he coughs.
Once.
He resumes his charcoal stance;
Sarcasm playing games upon his lips.
Each hourglass narrows and sets,
Twice.
His brow furrows beneath the dark cloak,
And he lifts his palm upward,
Fingers entwined in her robes of Want.
‘Don’t leave me.’
A whisper that falls
Thrice.