Blackened night recesses turn into days.
They become unanimous with solidarity but
lost among themselves, shattered individuals
of the same black mirror. The pangs of truth
and the options reality provides for us is nothing
like the lies that satiate the spirit. They are fallen
among the saviors that came before them and
taught humanity lessons, reignited the notions
of the sacred and profane, banished secrets
from our lips but taught discretionary balance.
Lackluster criticisms, halo ringed hypocrisy,
the tangents of emotion wrinkle on the
brow leave us discombobulated.

The heart beckons. It is a beacon for
ghosts of the wilderness that nest
and root deep into the veins of the
earth, the trees. Dozens of spirits,
memories of humanity swell and
writhe begging for sustenance.
They require blood, and the
galvanizing energy of betrayal.
They require the vessels to examine
their souls, to identify universal
truths, to search for unadulterated
morality, and to whitewash with
blackest sin the inherent and
incarnate verity of source
light.

The hole in the head
implodes, corrupts digits
and organs, and eyesight
and discernment. Leaves
dead bodies unturned in
silent procession from
the center of the galaxy
to the threshold of the
home. The jagged crags
erase the riddles as the
fools line up to worship
the sun. At dawn, on the
beach, burning hearts
in effigy, they spread
their poisons and
condemn the flesh
to tarnish the soul
and recruit the fodder
the father commands them.

And the fools will sacrifice themselves
to save the children and remove the haze
and fog of illusion and deceit. The fools
will rise from sleep, will push off the
lumber of dreams and nightmares,
the shackles and cages of unknown
histories have rot off with the needles
of rust and poison that traverse hidden
galaxies and unfurl the mind.

—

—

“Black Orpheus: Awake in the Abyss” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved.

Twelve hours difference 
the same time of night.
Sister sun, father moon 
obliterate the hours 
into prisms colored 
white and fog.
The brain sludge, 
mind junk ripples 
in dazzling haze, 
a kaleidoscopic tapestry
inside cavernous deep. 
Stalactite ice grows
deathly teeth from 
ceiling to floor. 
Stalagmite pyramids 
to pray upon 
before impaling the spirit
with iridescent promises 
of carnal delight, 
and euphoric afterglow 
of coital conquest.
Bruises form, slowing the
blood into cracked sheaths 
of blackened tar that tricks
the travelers as they cross
the bridge of ignorance.
A slippery flow solidified 
slopes downward, too
fast for gravity to keep,
too welcoming for 
the conscience to deny.
A dull pain, muffled abrasion 
forms lesions on the skin, 
scars the passage to the heart,
shears it like razors and slice 
the discord evenly. Eyes lose 
harmony, travel separate 
and detached. An ocean 
crashes inside concrete skull, 
a heated, poisonous effervescence 
steaming from attention 
into dissociation and apathy.
The strings of memory fray,
unravel, unfasten shrinking 
the gut, the heart, and head.
No wonder, wander lost 
in frozen land. Recall 
the long lost foreshadow 
of a winter king amid 
the ice, and hold the flame
beneath glass chalice,
awaiting again the 
clouds of Jupiter 
to gather in storm
and perpetuate the surface
in storms vast and everlasting.
The monochrome veils of sworn
enlightenment speed up 
virtue’s desecration,
entrap the energetic upheaval 
once avowed to light, a bride 
to source, a corpse upon 
the seat of the soul. 

—

—

“Black Orpheus: Crystalline Haze” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved.