Pulsars sweeping through the sky,
I become the sun of distant system
far away wanting nothing more
than to warm your life.
Visible hadrons in the sky,
naked to the distant eye,
cannot see what hopes
and dreams locked
inside my heart.
Expand, I breathe deep
with cosmic lungs
the dust of stars,
inhale the swarm,
fragmentary like eclipsing
planets of the sun.
Light fractures into shards
and melts into thin clouds,
glowing, emanate, celestial
swans with twinkling eyes
and dazzling tongues.
Whispers sweep far,
swift into this space,
gregarious place
of mild chatter.
Hearth with heart,
deep warmth inside,
pulsing, beaming,
still alive.

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“Integer” is written by Michael Aaron Casares, and originally appeared in his collection of poetry This Reality of Man. Buy it now. All rights reserved.

A resolution is on the horizon.
A distant possibility sets permanent in reality.
The paranoid, the cynical, justified by the marred
truth and the absence of integrity associated with
the honor lost, crack their doors open. They sigh
deeply. They cry tears of disbelief. They were
right all along.

To pit man against man, to take the very essence
of living and strip away the conscience, is the malady
of promise. When given a soul, and given choice,
it expresses itself imperially; it goes forth and conquers;
it becomes a machine, a repetitious act that functions
without thought. It splices the genes of man. It is
homicidal. It is genocidal. It is suicidal. It seeks
the attention of the weak, and the presence
of the strong, to shrink away like a violet,
and cast its poison on us.

Chains.
Chains bedamned.
Lock and key.
Hoist away the plan,
cease all errant action.
Leave the fates of men alone.
Do not interfere with the spirit
of free will, it is not a choice to impede.
To betray the inner voice, to go against the tide
of will and understanding,
to give away the secrets of the universe,
the act of soul selling.
Don’t do it. Don’t get stuck
in the whirlpool of conscience,
a gravity thick, a crushing grip
of nothingness.
The masters of the universe
shall return again,
but their will to power
will not stand the tests
of time as it has before.

The indominable will of money men,
the malignancy of the host they consecrate,
the fashion of love they molest, redeem
bits and pieces, glimmers iridescent,
shards crystalline, magic cosmological,
quantum strings of nothingness
and everything. It is shattered before
them. It is hammered into pieces,
it is shown  to them like nostalgic images
rotating in the dreams of their memory,
when they dreamed, when they slept,
when they rejoiced in the world.
It is stripped their right of innocence,
and their right of immortality among the stars.
They will unbecome memories, and birth the
shadows of distant space, where it is cold
and black, and they can accost man no more.

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“Future Change, Present” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved. 

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Check out Michael’s Patreon page at http://www.patreon.com/macasares

NEW CONTENT COMING SOON!

Blank slate inside my arms
cannot force the ink out of my fingertips.
That black swirl, stream of threading darkness
will not recede or flood these plains. Twilight
dancing softly, flapping waves silk in black
cannot remember; doesn’t want to, would rather
erase all those mistakes. The lines shall not
wash over me, they shall not exit my nose,
enter my mouth, move seamlessly from pore
to pore, such grace is stripped of me.
Parched and dry, the cracked mud warns me
about personality, says I should be loose enough
to change, to fit inside its cracks, to ease out
all the blackness melting until rivers become
valleys between the chips of drying clay and
my body becomes like it, of more practical use;
and I am to accept when time to start again.

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“Force of Hand” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved.