Distillation of the history
in perceptions collided, scoped
for legion, collective and hive,
regardless of opinion,
deception sets sail beyond the rising sun.
Vast orchids blossom, blood red and orange,
daffodils fuchsia, peach blossom fire,
fiercely pinken darkening sky,
the lunar dream solidifying in the minds,
the abundant illumination crowning insights
to selected witnesses set to testify,
to bare the judgment of the enemy,
to call its shadows to attention,
to see the recognition in its eyes.
It wants to share something,
it wants to slyly strike a deal,
but it needs permission,
and the ability to be seen by eyes
once restricted to the access of
the other side. Some must look
deep inside. Some don’t have to
because they just know. Some
bow heads in shame. Those
who know restrict the spirit,
those indulgent regard
its will, those unknowing
and those apathetic
are lost and found
to chance’s fate
with this worldly spirit.
To fall into the infinite eye
of insights, to collapse into
opening doors, the depths
far deeper than comprehension.
The blackness of limbo
darker than space,
far colder than the coldest
memory, the adjourning meeting
would take place. In a land of silhouette
and disorder, the judgment set by the
black mirror before them, peer
into the chasm: now
you are nothing.
“The Fall of September” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved.