Black Orpheus: Awake in the Abyss

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.

Black Orpheus: Crystalline Haze

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.

Frazzledrip

Time slows, it escapes the
dregs of the human soul.
The tempo, the unforgivable
mask of enmity drags the
promises of our youth to
enslave hope and shackle it
to rhetoric.

It has faceless, baseless,
defaced morals. The truth
wears it like a mask of lies,
and receives the heart of
millions as hundreds of
Judas goats show them the
way, pretending self betrayal
is divine.

To eat the face of a child,
to cause it terror before a
Satanic death. Drip, drip.
Frazzledrip the Soul until
the unconscionable dance
around the altars naked
and behead the promises
of life in forfeit of their
souls.

“Frazzledrip” is written by Michael Aaron Casares. All rights reserved.

The Root of Many Returns Podcast

Readers and followers of The Root of Many Returns can now listen to the poetry and writing of Michael Aaron Casares featured on the new The Root of Many Returns Podcast on Anchor.FM. Each single piece episode was created for the literary lover on the go that wants to put some poetry or fiction in their ques and not worry about where they leave off. There are currently eight episodes on the podcast available for streaming now. The pieces include the two short fiction works, “The Perfect Distraction” and “Strangers with no Home.” Be on the look out for more episodes as 2020 winds down, and follow along on the website if you desire. The Root of Many Returns Podcast is featured on Anchor. FM, but will be available to all major podcast streaming services and apps, including Apple Podcasts, Google Podcasts, Spotify, Breaker, PocketCasts, RadioPublic, Stitcher, and more! Access The Root of Many Returns Podcast from your favorite platform, on your favorite device, anywhere you please!

Visit The Root of Many Returns Podcast at www.anchor.fm/RoMR

Prelude Hidden Worlds

There was a ringing at the door,
I didn’t know what to make of it other than
the starlight of sky above shone through the keyhole.
The privileges of the rural, span Milky Way for miles and
didn’t blink twice to dare show its true colors.
Creamy scattered light in distant resonance,
mixed miles, light years before and light years after.
This was the hidden world of the muse,
radiance dance defy the music of the spheres garbled
in heinous emotion ego, we all looked to one another
to decipher, to possibly ascend in schiz-freak screeching
distances. Classic compositions radiate with new life at my
finger tips and the audience applause in secret solitude
and smiles of solidarity.

“Prelude Hidden Worlds” is an Ekphrastic poem after “Prelude” from Cello Suite No. 1 by J.S. Bach. All rights reserved.

Severance by Brendan Perry

Severance,
The birds of leaving call to us,
Yet here we stand
Endowed with the fear of flight.

Overland
The winds of change consume the land,
While we remain
In the shadow of summers now past.

When all the leaves
Have fallen and turned to dust,
Will we remain
Entrench

Indifference,
The plague that moves throughout this land
Omen signs
In the shapes of things to come.


Tomorrow’s child is the only child.

“Severance” lyrics written by Brendan Michael Perry. All rights reserved.